Éponine Renaît
by DonJuana19
Summary: What would happen if Eponine didn't just die, but was reborn? And what if she found a certain deformed child who desperately needed her help? Was just a thought i had, so lemme know  how it turns out : . Did my homework on all the years and dates. ;
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"And rain… will make the flowers…" I couldn't hear my beloved Marius's sweet voice anymore. All I felt was his lips gently kissing my forehead. Then all was dark.

My eyes fluttered open. My first thought was of course Marius. Was he alright? Did the revolution succeed? Was he with that rumpus of a girl Cossette? But wait… how could I be thinking? _"No… impossible! I was dead! I'd been shot! How can I be waking? Am I in heaven?"_ I thought, bewildered. My eyes soon adjusted to the bright light before me, and what I saw was far from heaven. A dirty, dark room with beds all around; each one occupied by a tiny child sleeping, coughing, or screaming in pain. My mouth opened in horror when I saw a glassy eyed girl in the bed next to me, no longer breathing with blood on her nightdress. I closed my eyes and took a deep, shaking breath, trying to escape the horrors around me. _What is this place? _I wondered in disgust. Suddenly, I heard a gasp, and my eyes snapped open to see an old woman staring in wonder at me. "May I help you Madame?" I asked, slightly irritated. She broke into a warm smile, and tears began to form in her eyes. "Oh, Anette, you're alright! How are you feeling dear?" My brow furrowed. Why was this woman calling me Anette? "I'm sorry Madame, I think you've mistaken me for someone else. My name is Éponine Thénardier." I told her. She looked puzzled. "What are you talking about? You are Anette. You always have been silly girl." She smiled then, as if this whole thing was a joke. Was it? But the only person who liked to play jokes on me was… no, I wouldn't think of him. "Madame, whatever trick you are trying to play is not at all funny. I am not this Anette you speak of." I told her sternly. She shook her head sadly and called another woman over. "What is it now?" the second woman asked crossly. The first woman looked me over then said, "Poor little dear's gone mad. When I came in she was alive, which is fortunate of course, but rambling on about being 'Éponine Thénardier." The second woman looked at me pitifully, then put a hand on my forehead. "Her temperature's normal. How strange! Usually hallucinations come with a fever." She said, brow furrowed. I couldn't believe what was happening. How are they so sure I am who they seek? I kept my mouth shut, knowing arguing would obviously do no good, as they looked me over for any further signs of ailment. After that they left me, saying, "The girl needs her rest." And as soon as I was sure they were gone, I got up out of the bed. "Let's have a look around, shall we?" I whispered to myself. No sooner than the words had left my mouth I gasped. The voice speaking was not mine, but one of a child's. I looked down, and my feet were the small ones of a child. I shakily lifted my hands up to my face, and they were a child's as well. I ran over to the small, dusty window, and in the reflection, two big brown eyes stared back at me above a sweet little pink nose, all wrapped up in a little girl's face. I gasped and jumped back. "How… how is this possible?" I whispered to myself. I had become a little girl again. But… I was not _me._ I was some other little girl. I felt my knees begin to wobble, so I went to sit down on the bed. I must have thought about it for at least a good hour, but I finally came to the fact that I had died, and for whatever reason been sent back to earth instead of just moving on. Why? What did I do to deserve this? Why was I being deprived of heaven? Maybe I'd not been the most sinless girl in the world at the time, but I was only doing what I was told! Why did I have to be reborn into this dark world? At that point, my childish instincts kicked in. I began to weep, too overwhelmed and upset to do anything else. "It's just…not…fair!" I gasped to myself. I had thought, as I lay there dying in my love's arms, that his flawlessly handsome face would be the last thing I saw before the gates of heaven. But no, because of what I'd done, or for whatever other reason there could possibly be, I was thrust back here onto this cruel earth. I dried my tears and tried to calm down. _Well, you're here, and if this is a punishment you won't die just because you want to. It seems you'll have to earn it._ I told myself with a sigh. I picked myself up and started walking towards the door, but suddenly I heard faint voices, and I dove back into the bed. "Yes, she's right in through here. And really? That's why you're late? How horrible. How many casualties?" one of the women from before asked. They entered the room, and a tall man with a thick coat stood with the woman. "Too many to count. There were few, if any, survivors." He answered her gravely. She nodded in agreement. "Indeed, that's what I'd heard too. Serves them right though, filthy little rebels." She finished with a hiss. My stomach dropped. There was only one rebellion that everyone was talking about right now… '_There were few, if any, survivors.' _The man had said. "Marius!" I gasped, eyes welling up again. They turned at my gasp, and the man smiled at me. "Hello mademoiselle. How are you feeling?" he asked. All I wanted to do was flee the room, scouring out the streets for any survivors, but I knew I'd just be dragged back if I did. I hated being so helpless, so weak. But all I could do for now was play along. "Fine monsieur. How are you?" I asked in he sweetest tone I could muster. He grinned. "Very good. Tell me dear, what is your name?" I took a deep breath before answering, "Anette monsieur." He nodded, then turned to the woman. "Well, it seems she's back on track. If you need anything else, I'll be much quicker coming now that there are no more living rebels to tend to." He told her. I shivered at the way he said 'living'; drawing it out longer than it normally would be said. They left in deep conversation about the rebels and their barricades, the army and their victory, and voicing their opinions on the matter overall. The talk of barricades confirmed it; I was still in France, and this was the same revolution. That meant that most likely… Marius was gone. And because I was stuck here, we couldn't even be together. _"Not that he'd suddenly love me in death.' _I thought sadly.


	2. Chapter 2

That night, I easily snuck out of the orphanage (by that point I'd figured out that was what it was), and walked down the dark, unfamiliar streets. I'd never been to this part of town, and therefore had almost no idea where I was going. _'I guess Eponine doesn't know her way around as well as she thinks she does.' _I thought wryly to myself. I was cold, hungry, and still a bit weak from whatever sickness the poor girl had. I was barefoot, and I kept stepping in freezing puddles, but I continued on until a few hours later, I found a street I recognized. I ran down it excitedly, knowing every turn and cobblestone like it was the back of my hand. '_That's more like it!' _I smirked to myself. After another twenty minutes or so of just running, I got to my destination. It was a little fort-like area I'd created after my father had disowned me. It was in an abandoned store cellar, and everything I owned, or, had 'borrowed' I stored there. There was one particular thing I was looking for, something, I'd treasured until I'd died. I stumbled through the dark, choking on dust, feeling around on the floor of the cellar. Finally, I found it. It was a book Marius had given me when I'd told him you didn't need books to be intelligent. He'd had a good laugh at that, and I'd been slightly offended, but I could never stay mad at him for even the fraction of a moment. The next day he gave me one of his anatomy books, with a sweet little note in the front reading, "For my bright Éponine, stay street smart! –Marius". I'd treasured that book and pushed myself to learn to read it, and though I'd never been able to read the entire thing, I learned more than I had known when I had began. I soon located the book, and placed my fingers gently on the first page, the only one in the book I knew by heart. I held it close to my heart and sighed, remembering how excited I'd been when he'd given me the book, and how I'd felt my heart stop when I read the note. I snuck out of the cellar and hurried back out onto the street. By this time, it was at least six in the morning, so a few early rising citizens were already up and about. I remained in the shadows, just watching all the people pass by. I felt a hint of jealousy as they passed by, completely oblivious to the poor people waiting hungry in the shadows, so focused on their own busy lives. As soon as I was basically alone, with only a few drunkards left on the other side of the street, I stepped out into the sunlight. I had to squint, my eyes adjusting from the darkness I'd just been in. I closed them, smiling as the sun warmed my cheeks, and I took a few more steps, but then bumped into something. I cracked my eyes open slightly, seeing a man towering above me. "Oh, excuse me mademoiselle." He chuckled, looking down at me. I froze. That voice… it was… "You must watch where you're going dear." A woman laughed, and my head snapped over to where she stood next to him. My heart dropped to the bottom of my chest. It was Marius and Cosette, looking happy as ever strolling down the street, arm in arm. I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. "What are you reading there, little miss?" Marius asked, tickling the side of my neck. The little girl in me giggled, and held out the book. The Éponine part of me tried to fight it, for what would he think if he saw the note? But he simply glanced at the cover, to my relief. "Ah, the basics of anatomy. I had a book just like that once! Gave it to my dear friend Éponine, God rest her soul. Quite advanced for your age! I wish you luck in your studies, mademoiselle." He winked at me, and Anette giggled. "Thank you monsieur." Was all I could think to say. For once, I was glad to have the innocent child's feelings as part of me, for if I hadn't, I think I would have broke down crying right then and there. Cosette patted my head, much to my irritation, and off they went, her head on his strong shoulder. My shattered heart was so strong it overcame all other conflicted feelings. I ran back into one of the alleyways, tears blurring my vision. _At least he hasn't completely forgotten me. At least my memory lives on with him, even with __her__ at his side. What had he just called me? 'My dear friend…' You should be grateful. _I tried to tell myself, but it was so hard to hear above the screaming pain. I looked down at the book. _You're all I have left…_ I thought sadly.


	3. Chapter 3

20 years later…

Twenty long years of suffering. All I wanted was to move on, whether it be physically or just emotionally, but yet I couldn't bring myself to suicide. At this point, all I had left to hope for was to see Marius in heaven when our time on earth was done, for I was sure that's where he would go. He was too much of an angel to go anywhere else. He was happily married with children now, for right before the picture perfect family had moved away, I saw a little girl who looked so much like the young Cossette I'd spent my childhood with, but with _his_ beautiful, sparkling eyes. I remember that night I'd gone right up to my dirty little flat and cried for the rest of the evening. My current body had been only twelve at the time, and I was surprised something so young could hold so many tears; feel so much pain. They were long gone now, off somewhere lovely, new memories blossoming every day. I often found myself wondering what had become of them in the twenty years they'd been gone; if they'd stayed together (unfortunately, I already knew that answer), if Cossette woke up every day thanking God for the wonderful blessing she'd been given, or if their pretty little daughter had a lover of her own now. When I had nothing better to do, (So, quite often) I made up stories in my mind. They ranged from the girl stealing another's fiancé to Marius coming back to me. _"But I know… it's only in my mind…" _I would always think darkly to myself. My obsession was a great one, and as soon as my wild imagination started making things up for amusement soon after they left, I decided that I needed to distract myself, lest I go mad. I was a thirteen year old girl wandering the streets of Paris, and soon, due to the perverted intentions of a strange old man, I'd found a job in a shop stocking shelves. As soon as he realized I was not about to give him what he truly wanted however, I was sent back out onto the streets. For years I went from job to job, resisting any pressure put on me to make a little extra easy money. All I needed to do was see _his_ face in my mind, and I could turn up my nose as easy as breathing. I was proud of myself, and grateful to him, for I knew that my resistance was and always would be the best path. By the time I turned 19, I'd found a steady job as a barmaid. Though the customers were rude, mindless pigs, and the owner of the tavern was a strict man who was quick to punish, I earned a decent wage and at this point that was all I lived for. At first I'd been surprised at how long the owner had kept me on the job, but at this point, I learned to just take the money and be grateful. Every night was the same thing; come home, read (reacquiring Marius's book had inspired me to start learning a few years ago), and then get a good night's sleep for the coming, repetitive day. Little did I know that this particular day would be anything but ordinary. I had just gotten home from work when I heard a series of thumps coming from the apartment below. I stopped to listen more carefully and soon realized that the thumps were accompanied by shouts and gasps. I could hear someone faintly sobbing, and then an ear-splitting shatter. What in the world could be going on? I rushed out the door, ignoring how the splintery wood poked at my feet. I went down a level, following the cries of pain. _Is someone being robbed?_ I thought fearfully. I went up to the door of the apartment housing the ruckus cautiously and knocked on the door. The thumps and cries stopped, and an eerie silence briefly set in. I pressed my ear against the door, and then heard a woman hiss, "Now look what you've done, you little devil! You've brought the neighbors into this!"

"I'm sorry mamán." Someone else whimpered. That someone was a child. Another thump, then the woman screeched, "Don't you dare call me that! Anything as hellish as you could never be my son!" The sobbing started up again, and I could feel my heart shattering. This little boy was obviously being mistreated, and by his own mother no less. I knocked again, much more urgently. "Excuse me!" I called.

"Yes?" the woman replied in mock innocence.

"What's going on in there?" I asked, frowning.

"Oh, nothing. Just a little spring cleaning is all! Forgive me if I was a bit loud Madame." She apologized. I didn't believe a word of it. "It's quite alright Madame. Why don't you come up to my flat for a cup of tea? All the dust that comes with spring cleaning cannot possibly be good for your lungs!" I said, testing her. It got quiet for a moment, but then she replied, "Thank you for the kind offer Madame, but we don't even know each other! I could not possibly intrude on you."

"Nonsense!" I pressed. "This is what neighbors do, no? I insist!" A few more seconds of silence ticked by, but then, to my surprise, the door swung open. A tiny, ragged woman stood in front of me; hair mussed, dress torn, bruises all over her body. She shot me an overenthusiastic smile and extended her hand. "My name is Madeline." She introduced herself. I forced a smile back. "Éponine." I replied. She slipped her arm through mine, and we began walking away. Just before she closed the door behind her, I caught a peek of her apartment. It lay in ruins; broken furniture, shattered glassware, but there was no one else inside it. Where was the child? I was sure I had heard one. I would have to prod Madeline for answers. We got back up to my flat, and I started on the tea. "So, Madeline," I started casually, "How long have you lived here?"

"A few months. I moved here… from Rouen." She faltered. _You moved here… with someone?_ I wanted to ask. But instead I said, "Well welcome to the neighborhood then!" with a grin. She smiled back, for real this time, and replied, "Thank you Madame. You are a Madame, aren't you? A pretty girl like you is bound to be married." My heart ached for a moment, thinking of Marius, but I found the strength to say with a weak laugh, "No actually, not quite yet. I haven't had the time." She laughed. "Well I'm sure you'll have plenty of men pursuing you when you are finally ready." I snorted. _I wish. _"What about you Madeline? Are you married?" I asked, finally beginning to get her where I needed her. She looked at me, winking. "Not quite yet, dear." I held back a gasp. That would mean that the boy, if there truly was one, was a bastard child. We continued talking, and I poured the tea as soon as it was ready, and I found out that she worked nearly the same hours that I did, over at the local textile mill, but got home about an hour later than I. I smiled to myself when she told me that, for I could break out my old lock picking skills and investigate the alleged child tomorrow. When I stopped to think about it for a moment, I was almost shocked at how obsessed I was with finding this child, for I'd known about him for all of an hour. But something was telling me that this woman wasn't as sweet as she wanted me to think, and that this boy needed my help. After we ran out of tea, and things to talk about, Madeline excused herself, saying she was tired and needed to get to bed. "Oh, well do take some of this bread. I just bought it down at the market, fresh out of the oven." I said, handing her some.

"I thank you for all of your warm hospitality, but I am not hungry. Thank you for offering." She smiled and turned to go.

"Please, do take it! You can save it for when you are hungry. Or, if any visitors come calling and they desire some." I looked her in the eye as I said it. She seemed to be unmoved by my statement, not realizing what I meant by it, but she took it, chuckling at my persistence. I bid her farewell, hoping the bread would go to the child who needed it.

**Author's Note:**** Hey guys! Thanks to all those (if any XD ) who are reading this! Just wanted to let you know, I've never read the Susan Kay novel (le gasp! I know.) so therefore some of the things I portray in Erik's life before the opera house may not be very accurate. (Not to mention I'll have to change some things in order to fit Eponine in) I did look up Erik's mother's name, so that's accurate, but the rest may be quite different from what you know. So I apologize for that, but hope you'll enjoy this anyway! :D**


	4. Chapter 4

I could hardly sleep, anxious about the coming day. _'What if I'm wrong? What if there is no child?' _I kept thinking. I'll have

broken into this woman's house for no reason at all. _'I'll have become just what I was trying to avoid becoming, and without _

_reason.'_ Yet, I could still hear his tiny voice in my mind, clear as day. _"I'm sorry mam__á__n…"_ Yes. This would be worth it. Finally,

unable to sleep another wink, I got up out of bed, put my boots on, and left the building. The cool morning air tickled my

cheeks; the rosy pink sun a beautiful sign of a new day's beginning. I began kicking a pebble as I thought, watching it skitter

around the cobblestones with each swift nudge. I was reminded of another time long ago, when I once again had been deep in

thought. "_On my own, pretending he's beside me…"_ kick. "_All alone, I walk with him 'til morning…" _kick. _"Without him…"_ kick,

kick. "No." I said quietly to myself. "Stop this little pity party, 'Ponine. That's done now." I shoved the painful memory back and

turned around, sending the pebble flying with one big kick. It soared at least 25 feet behind me, stopping right in front of a

woman. She looked up at me, and I saw that it was Madeline on her way out the door. "Bonjour Éponine!" she called, waving. I

copied the gesture and greeted, "Bonjour Madeline. Off to work?" She nodded with a grimace. "Unfortunately. The place is a

hellhole. How bout you?" This was my chance. If I didn't trip up, I could remove any potential suspicion. "Yes ma'am. Not much

better on my part. The daily drunkards believe that 'ale knows no hour' so therefore I never have a slow morning." I lied

breezily, rolling my eyes. She laughed. "Well good luck with that lot." I nodded back to her. "Same goes to you." She excused

herself then and began walking away. I decided I'd wait a good half hour before making my move to be absolutely sure she

wouldn't come back and see me. As I waited, my heart began racing and my worries started circulating once again. A new one

soon popped up, and it was the worst of them all. _'What am I going to do if I get in there, and there __is__ a child?'_ the question

finally dawned on me. Even children, innocent as they were, must know that it is not normal to have a stranger come

unannounced into your home. He'll scream or attempt to hurt me, or he'll go and hide. I had to find a way to show him that I

was there to help him. I sat down on the curb of the road to think. _'How to earn his trust…' _After a while of sitting there to no

avail, I suddenly remembered a time from when I was a little girl, years before my father had thrown me out. I'd seen a stray

cat sleeping beneath the back steps of our inn, but every time I got near it, it would hiss at me or run off. Eventually, I figured

I could earn its trust by bringing it scraps from my dinner. Day by day, it let me get closer and closer until finally, after a few

months, she let me pet her. I'd been overjoyed, and I'd taken care of her as mine for a few months before she'd disappeared.

Could food be the way to a child' trust too? I'd never known much about children; the only kid I'd ever really known well was

that boy Gavroche at the barricade, and he acted more like a man in his late teens than the ten year old he was. The half hour

passed quickly, and as soon as I was completely sure Madeline was not returning any time soon, I headed back to the building;

fingers crossed and heart pounding.

After picking up a few hard earned candies from my flat, I stood before the worn wooden door of Madeline's apartment. I took

a deep breath, squeezed my eyes shut, and stuck my hairpin in the sorry old lock, picking it with ease. One of the reasons my

father had kept me in his gang of thieves so long was because of how easily I could pick even the most complex locks. I used

to get a rush of adrenaline and slight smugness when I heard that satisfying click, but now it only brought a feeling of near

dread, spurred by my worries. I turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open, whispering, "Hello?" as I did. I heard a sort

of rustle, but by the time I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, all was silent once again. I looked around, shocked

at what I saw. There was shattered glass all over the floor, bits of broken furniture lying about, and there was all but one small

bed in the far corner. I was practically choking on dust, and the window was so dirty it provided little light. I looked down at the

floor to see a big, fat cockroach scuttling away from me, veering to the left to avoid running through a small puddle of… blood.

I couldn't suppress my gasp of horror. I got down on my knees to inspect it closer, and not only was it fresh, but I saw a thin,

smeared, red trail leading from the puddle to one of the only pieces of furniture still standing, an Os de Mouton Armchair. And

as I squinted to see better in the poor lighting, I noticed a tiny pair of feet standing behind the chair. "I see you there." I said

softly. I immediately wished I could rephrase. _'I can see you there? What are you thinking 'Ponine? That's what murderers and _

_robbers say, not friends!'_ there was still no response from the chair, so I continued with, "Please, it's alright. I'm not going to

hurt you." It remained silent, and I figured it was time to break out my secret weapon. "Here, I brought this for you to eat." I

said, then I slid a candy across the floor to the side of the chair. For a minute or two, it remained there untouched, but

suddenly a tiny hand shot out and snatched it off the floor. I smiled to myself as I heard the wrapper crinkling, and suppressed

a giggle when I saw it flutter to the floor next to the child's feet. "Do you like it?" I asked. After a slight moment of hesitation,

a timid reply came with, "Ye-ye-yes Madame." I cheered in my head, for I now knew for sure I wasn't crazy, and I'd gotten the

boy to speak all in one moment. His voice was sweet and quiet, and his frightened stutters saddened me. "Would you like

another?" I asked gently. "Y-y-yes Madame." he replied. I scooted just a few inches closer, then slid another sweet next to the

chair. The candy was snatched up again, and the chair scooted backward a bit with an earsplitting screech, and I heard a

thump as the little feet disappeared and a bottom replaced them. Now, mind you, the armchair was heavy, but light enough for

a child to be able to at least slide back, and yet he had to try so hard to pull it backward that he fell. _'How weakened could this _

_boy possibly be?' _I thought, bewildered. "It's alright little monsieur, do not be afraid." I attempted to soothe him. The feet

reappeared on the floor, and I heard, "But… wh-who are you Madame?" I sat down all the way, not wanting to frighten him

again by moving forward. "My name is Miss Éponine. What's yours?" I asked in a smooth voice.

"You have a pretty name Madame." He told me quietly. I smiled at his sweet remark. "Thank you, young sir. Now, what is _your_

name?"

"Miss Éponine, is Young Sir my name?"

My mouth dropped open, totally and utterly shocked. The boy did not know his name. he'd never been called by his name.

Madeline, that woman, this boy's mother, hadn't even bothered to teach him his own name! I could feel my blood boiling at the

thought of her. To rid a human of a name is to rid that human of humanity! "No little one. 'Young Sir' is not your name. What

does your mother call you by?" I asked cautiously.

"She gives me many names, Madame. She calls me by Demon, Devil's Boy, Monster, Repulsive, and some others I don't

remember. Can I just have one name Miss? Having so many hurts my head." He said. My heart shattered into a million pieces.

He didn't know his name because all his mother had called him was a monster. And he didn't even realize how much hate was

in those words. _'How dare she do this to such an innocent little boy!'_ I thought angrily. "Yes child, we'll give you a nice, pretty

name. Alright? What would you like it to be?" I asked him. He was silent in thought for a moment, but then he replied, "Can I

have one like yours Miss Éponine? I like your name." I smiled, then said, "Alright little one. How about… Édouard?" I

questioned. I assumed he meant he liked the way the "E" sounded in my name, so that was what I would start with. It was

quiet, and I made sure to add, "If you don't like it, just say so."

"Are you sure Miss? I don't have to obey you?"

Again, my jaw dropped open. What had his boy gone through? "No, you don't have to agree with me. Let's see… Émile?"

"No thank you Madame."

"Eugéne?"

"No thank you Madame."

"Eric?"

I braced myself for another rejection, but none came. It was just silent, and then, a few seconds later, he said, "I like that one

Miss Éponine. Can I have that one?" I told him of course, then remembered why the name had sounded so familiar. An old

family friend of us Thernadier's had been a Scandinavian traveler named Erik Kristiansen, and I'd loved when he visited

because of the exciting stories he'd told. He was one of the few men my father liked spending time with who'd refused to take

part in his scams, and as I grew older I learned to appreciate that. "Alright Erik, can you come out here? I can't see your face

when you're behind the chair like that." I tried to joke with him, but I really just wanted to see the severity of whatever wound

he had.

"No Madame." He said simply.

"Why not?" I asked, slightly confused.

"My mamán says no one can ever see me."

It all started to click together. Of course she'd tell him that. If he was indeed a bastard child, she would need to hide him or be

scorned. That was no excuse for abusing the poor boy, but at least I knew why he 'needed to remain hiding'. "It's alright Erik, I

won't tell your mamán that I saw you if you don't tell her that I came to visit you, alright?" I bargained. A moment of silence,

but then, "But Madame, she says my face is that of the Devil. She says that I am not her son because of my face."

"Erik, you can trust me. We'll keep each other's secrets." I smiled at him. I heard a tiny breath being taken in, and the he

stepped out from behind the chair.

**Author's Note:**** I'm going to keep you in suspense a bit longer. (Sorry ComicCartoonFreak13, next chapter's the one, I swear! Just keep reading! ;D) How will Eponine react to Erik? Keep an eye out for the next chapter, which should be out in the next few days! **


	5. Chapter 5

My hand flew to my mouth, and a shocked gasp escaped my lips. I'd never seen

anything like it. The boy looked like a corpse, like he'd died and began rotting away,

and yet here he stood, living and breathing. I closed my eyes and took a deep,

shuddering breath, trying calming myself. When I looked again he had opened his

eyes, which were a sickly yellow, but it was his eyes that got me. They were so

terrified, anguished, and completely innocent. All this boy had ever done was be

ugly, and he was horribly abused because of it. After looking into those eyes, I forced

my repulsion back. I soon saw that the blood was coming from a deep wound on

his shoulder, and the thin, papery skin around it was turning red with infection.

"Come here, Erik." I said calmly. He took a fearful step back, eyes wide. "Are- are you

going to hit me Miss Éponine? I'm sorry Madame, I'm sorry! I was only following

your instructions!" and a few tears escaped his pleading yellow eyes. I almost began

to cry as well, at the expectancy in his voice. How had his "mother" brought him to

the point where every time you called him forward he expected to be punished? I

don't know how I could ever face her again without attempting to wring her neck.

"No Erik, I promise I wont hit you. I just want to take a look at that cut on your

shoulder." I told him, smiling. He was still cautious, but he slowly began inching his

way toward me. "That's a good lad…" I cooed. Finally, he was right in front of me,

skeletal body rigid and braced. Even standing he was only as tall as I was kneeling,

so I figured he could only be 4 or 5 years old. He'd experienced so much terror at

such a young age. It was sickening. I motioned for him to kneel, and slowly he did.

Cut was an understatement, this was a deep puncture wound, and it was becoming

greatly infected from his being so dirty. I looked around for something to bandage it

with, but saw nothing. "Alright Erik, I need to go get a bandage from my flat. I'll be

right back, ok?" I told him, standing up. "Oui Madame. But Miss Éponine, why does

my mamán scream at my face when you don't?" I froze, not knowing how to answer

him. I tried to find words that wouldn't break his fragile little heart, but none came.

"I don't know Erik. Some people just don't… see things the right way I guess." I said

carefully. He looked a bit confused, but asked no more questions, to my relief. I crept

out of the apartment and hurried up to my flat, scrambling to find a clean cloth,

quickly soaking it with fresh water, and snatching some rubbing alcohol out of my

cabinet. I went back down to their flat, and when I re-entered Erik was clutching a

grubby, gray piece of cloth. "What's that Erik?" I asked him curiously.

"My mask." He replied casually.

"Oh honey, you don't need to wear it with me." I told him gently.

"But you'd like it better if I did." He looked down, sadly. While his face may

not be the most pleasant thing to look at, I could never take away any more of his

humanity than his mother already had by making him wear the thing. "No Erik, I like

seeing _your_ face, not the cloth." I told him. His eyes widened like a dog begging for

food, staring up at me with those strange yet blameless yellow eyes. "Really?" he

whispered. I nodded. Then, for the first time since I'd come, he smiled. His eyes lit up

to look like warm hearths on a winter evening, his wrinkled, papery mouth opened

to reveal twin lines of tiny, straight, baby teeth, and the overall joy he displayed

made me smile too. "Thank you Miss Éponine, thank you! Mamán never lets me go

without the mask while she's here." He exclaimed as if he'd achieved something

great.

"Well you completely deserve it Erik. Now, come here, and let's see that coupé of

yours, shall we?" I said, motioning him forward. He scooted toward me, more

eagerly this time, and I held back a triumphant smile. '_Earning his trust was even _

_easier than the cat!' _I laughed I my head. But that was also a very depressing thing

indeed. It almost nearly meant that he'd gotten so little kindness in his lifetime that

any he received he immediately trusted. Well, I was determined to change that.

"Alright Erik, this might sting a little, but it's all going to help in the end, trust me." I

told him as I soaked the cloth in the rubbing alcohol. His smile disappeared, and he

tensed. I quickly added, "Erik, it's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. The medicine

just prickles to tell you its working." I tried to explain in terms he would understand.

I had almost said, "The rubbing alcohol has properties in it that kill the bacteria

infecting your wound." because he was so advanced in his dialect it made me forget

he was only four years old. After I said that, he relaxed a bit, nodding. I carefully

placed the cloth on his wound, wrapping it around his shoulder. He'd winced at first,

squeezing his eyes shut, but then his face relaxed, and he opened his eyes, looking…

confused. "Madame, I don't think the medicine is working." My brow furrowed. "Why is that?"

"You said it would prickle if it was working. It's not."

I lifted the cloth away, peeking beneath at the wound. It was wet with the alcohol, so

why wasn't he feeling anything. "Are you sure you feel nothing Erik?" I questioned.

He sat for a moment as if thinking. "Well there is a little tingle. Does that mean its

working?" he asked me, hopefully. "I want the medicine to work, Miss Éponine.

Mamán will be cross with me if it keeps bleeding, and it also hurts me." My

confusion grew. With that amount of alcohol on that deep a wound, it should not just

be tingling. Was there something wrong with it? Or… was he just so used to pain that

this was but a tickle to him? It horrified me that that was even a possibility, and even

more so that since this was newly bought rubbing alcohol, that was the more likely

possibility. "Don't worry honey, its working." I replied grimly. He looked up at me

with those wide yellow eyes as I dabbed at his wounds and asked, "Miss Éponine,

what is honey? Why do you not call me Erik?" I felt a little guilty, for with all the

things I'd been calling him he was probably hopelessly lost. "Well Erik, honey is a

lovely, sweet, golden thing that you can eat or put in tea, and it adds a nice flavor to

it. People call each other 'honey' when they're very close." I explained.

"Madame, we have just met today. Are we 'very close'?" he asked me

curiously.

"Well, we are friends, are we not? Are you my friend Erik?" I questioned. He

nodded eagerly. "Oui, we are friends! You let me sit with you without my mask!" I

grinned back at him, despite of the sadness of his statement. "Glad to hear it, little

one. Now tell me, would you like me to visit you again Erik?" I asked him. Again he

nodded vigorously. "Oui Miss Éponine!" but then his face fell. "But are you leaving me now?"

"Soon I will have to go, yes. But don't worry, I will be back again tomorrow." I

soothed. Tears welled up in his little eyes. "But I don't like being alone!" he

whispered. At that, tears formed in my eyes as well. Out of all the things he'd gone

through; the injury, the scorns, the mask; it was the loneliness that he had not gotten

used to. "Erik, I promise that I'll be back as soon as I possibly can, and I will bring

you some honey to try, ok? Then you'll know what it tastes like." I attempted to

distract him with thought of treats, but his lip continued to quiver. "I'm sorry Erik,

but I cannot stay forever. And your mamán cannot know of my visiting you, alright?

Or else I will never be able to come again." I added, to ensure that my visits were

kept a secret. He nodded, though his face was still slightly upset. "Alright, that's a

good boy. I'll see you tomorrow." I said as I stood up. He went back and sat in the

corner I'd found him in, and as I shut the door, I saw him slip his mask on.

**Authors Note: ****Awww… poor Erik. ****É****ponine has known him for so little time, and yet the fact that she was kind (and only that fact) earned his trust without a second thought. Must've been through a lot. Sorry for the short chapter, but I'm hoping the next one will be longer. We'll have to see where this story takes us… ;) I hope you all are enjoying reading this as much as i am writing it! :D  
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	6. Chapter 6

"_I don't like being alone…'_ his anguished plea played over and over in my head. The

poor boy had spent half of his life abused by him mother, and the other half sitting in

the solitude forced upon him because of his face. It was a tragedy too much for any

kind heart to bear. I wished I could keep him company all the time, make him laugh

in what would usually be a deafening silence. But u was already at least an hour late

for work, and if I went any longer without explaining, I'd lose my job. "Theeere

sheee eesss!" on of the daily drunkards gurgled as I walked in. "Looking lovely as

ever." Another added, raising his eyebrows flirtatiously. "Why Mr. Fournier, you're

lucky I don't crack this next serving right over your head!" I warned, though they

knew by now that I was never serious. Louis Fournier, a man who's life had been

completely overrun by the sweet temptation of ale, smiled and barked out a laugh.

"You've always been a feisty one love. Speaking of that next serving, why don't you

serve it missy?" he burst out laughing, and I rolled my eyes with a smile. He thrust

his cup towards me, and I filled it about halfway, thinking the last thing he could

possibly need was another full mug washed down his gullet. I continued filling up

mugs and returning their drawling jokes and comments, and suddenly I heard,

"Éponine! Get over here!" I turned to see the angry, purple, tense face of the tavern

owner, my boss, Bernard Dubois. I walked over to him calmly, bracing myself for

what I knew would come next. He struck my across the face, growling, "You think

I'm paying you to sit at home? To refuse to come to work on time?"

"I'm sorry monsieur. But—"

"I don't want to hear another word. If you attempt to pull a stunt like that

again—"

But monsieur, I—"

"Not another—"

"Monsieur, you will let me finish or so help me you can serve these washed

up pigs yourself!"

He stared at me wide eyed, gaping. I'd never snapped at him before. I took

advantage of his faltering silence, saying, "I was late because my… sister was in town

with her son, and came calling unexpectedly. Forgive me, but I haven't seen my

sister in over four years. I couldn't just leave her." I lied. I was surprised at how

easily I made up the story, apparently old habits _do_ die hard. He grunted, still a bit

fazed by my comment, and said, "Fine. But never again. I'm sure there are plenty of

other girls in Paris who need this job." glaring at me.

"Yes sir." I replied simply, heading back to the counter. It had been a close call,

I was just grateful he hadn't dismissed me after I'd talked back. But now that I was

walking on thin ice, how was I to continue visiting Erik and still be on time for work?

I was distracted thinking about it, and spilled several times; though my customers

were so tipsy they didn't notice. At the end of my shift, I headed back in the dark,

still racking my brain for a possible solution to my dilemma. I couldn't just leave him,

not when I'd promised to be his friend, when I'd promised to return. I got right into

bed when I got home, calculating the time between when his mother left for work

and when my shift began. 5:30 in the morning to 2:00 in the afternoon. That was at

least eight and a half hours, and today I'd gone in so late and wasted so much time

looking for the boy's medicine that I'd only used about three hours of that. If I got all

the things I could need ready while I was waiting to be sure Madeline was gone for

the day, it would save me the time of running back and forth, and then I'd have

about six hours to spend with Erik. I fell asleep smiling, proud of myself for the

clever plan I'd come up with. _'I could have been a student too.' _I scoffed at the

memory before drifting off. My sleep was dreamless, for I was completely exhausted

after the busy day I'd had, and I woke up to the sun's rays beginning to shine

through my window. I sat out and practically sprang out of bed, realizing that I had

woken up bit later than I had yesterday. I rushed to the cabinet and snatched up

some rubbing alcohol, other herbal remedies, and a jar of honey. Then I searched

around for anything I could give him to play with. I hadn't seen a single toy in his flat,

and no child should live without at least some form of entertainment. I grabbed a

few of the books I'd learned to read based off of my anatomy text, some old clothes

I'd grown out of in years past, and some scissors I'd… borrowed from the barber.

'_Since I have no real toys to give him, perhaps we can make one.' _I thought. After I'd

collected everything I could think of, I waited at the window until I saw Madeline

leave, then I rushed downstairs to their flat, much sooner than I had yesterday. I

picked the lock then knocked softly before I entered whispering, "It's me Erik, it's

Miss Éponine!" I heard him gasp, then he sprang out from behind the chair. "Bonjour

Madame!" he was smiling, but I could only tell from the sparkle in his eye, for the

rest of his face was hidden behind his soiled guise. "Bonjour Erik. Take that mask off

right now, I don't like it when you hide from me." I smiled at him, and he was

practically buzzing with excitement as he tore off the mask and threw it at the

ground, uttering a certain word that no four year old should know. I reprimanded

him on it, and he looked at me, confused. "But my mamán says it. She screams it at

me, and she screams it whenever she's angry."

"It is a naughty word Erik, and you cannot say it anymore, alright?" I tried to

be firm, but was afraid of his fragileness. But he nodded, frowning. "I'm sorry Miss

Éponine. I didn't know it was bad."

"It's alright Erik. Now come here, I brought you something!" I exclaimed, and

he rushed over to me eagerly. "What is it? What is it?" he asked enthusiastically. I

pulled the jar of honey out from my bag. He cocked his head. "Uh… what is it?" he

questioned. I giggled. "Remember when I told you yesterday about that sweet

substance called honey? That's what's in this job. It is so sweet that if you know

someone especially kind or lovely, you call them honey." I explained as I stuck a

spoon into the jar. "Well… you are a very nice person Madame, but can you just be

Miss Éponine? And can I just be Erik?" he asked me. I nodded. It was definitely

better that way. I'd forgotten to mention to him that the name was often used from

mother to child or lover to lover, and either way it was not exactly fit for him to call

me honey. I handed him the spoon and instructed him to suck on it. He took it and

did as I said, and within moments was licking it clean. "You like it?" I asked, grinning.

"Oui Madame, it is delicious! It is so very sweet!" he exclaimed. I handed him

the rest of the jar, and sat silently with him as he finished it off. I was a bit worried,

for I knew that much honey was a bit more than what one should have in a serving,

but I knew once I'd given it to him, I'd hardly be able to take it back. It only took him

a few minutes to lick it clean, and then he turned back to me. "May I have some more

Madame?" he asked animatedly.

"I'm sorry Erik, I don't have any more today, but I'll go out and buy some

more another day." I promised, and he nodded. "So… what do you like to do while

your mother's gone?" I asked him. His brow furrowed. "What do you mean? I sit by

myself or do my chores. That's what mamán tells me to do." I shook my head sadly.

The child knew no fun, always cleaning or sitting alone. "Well when you're not doing

your chores, you don't have to just sit. You have me to play with now." I offered,

smiling at him. He nodded. "Thank you Madame. I do get tired of waiting all day. I

hear the children outside play, and I'd love to try it. But mamán doesn't let me go

outside. She says the people will try to hurt me if I do. She says…" I cut him off

before I could hear any more of her dreadful threats. "It's alright Erik, we'll just play

in here. Would you like to make a toy?" he looked puzzled, so I sadly explained, "A

toy is a thing which you play with, and it helps you to have fun."

"Then oui Madame, I would like to make a toy." He answered, and I took out the old clothing and scissors. I wished I could give him the clothes so that he wasn't standing shirtless wearing only the old, torn britches his mother had provided, but the new clothing would definitely arouse questions. When he saw the glint of the blade, he suddenly jumped back, falling to the ground and covering his head. "No, please! I didn't mean anything! I just wanted a 'toy'!" he whimpered. I put the scissors down, and a few more pieces fell together for me. And I'd wondered how he'd gotten such a deep wound… had his mother genuinely pulled a knife on him? Was he sitting here, cowering at the blades, because his mother had threatened him with one? My heart practically stopped in fear for this little boy. I knew she'd been hurting him, but this was even more horribly severe than I could ever have imagined. How could I ever leave him in the hands of that devil of a woman? What if she killed him? "It's alright Erik! It's alright dear, I would never hurt you. Those are just used to help make the toy. They won't hurt you!" I frantically tried to soothe him. It took a few minutes, but he slowly began pulling his hands back to his sides. "Promise?" he whispered.

"Cross my heart." I assured, and he sat back up. I gently placed the scissors in his timid hands, helping to put a small slice in the fabric as he winced away from them. After a while, he was using the scissors all by himself, snipping away at the fabric as I watched from his side. After a while he was bent intently over his work, and I became bored with just watching him. I took one of the books I'd grabbed out of my bag, and buried my nose in it, sinking into this parallel universe. It was a book I'd just bought recently but never read yet, and soon I became so enthralled that I hadn't even noticed that Erik had stopped cutting until he tugged on my sleeve. "Look Miss Éponine, I made a man!" he gushed, pointing down at his creation. And indeed he had. My eyes widened in shock as I took in his project; a little man complete with a suit and top hat, two holes for eyes and another for his wide grin. A four year old boy had created this? The thing only stood a few inches high, and to create something of its quality would have taken _me_ at least an hour, and having the patience to do so was a whole other story. Yet Erik had completed his man in about twenty minutes, not one single sign of frustration or even… effort. "S—so you did. How di—never mind. What will his name be?" I questioned, still a bit dazed. He studied his creation, brow furrowed in thought, then frowned. "I am not very good at names." He said sadly, looking at the ground.

"It's alright Erik, you haven't heard many names in your life." I assured him.

"Madame, how many names are there?" he asked curiously.

"As many as there are stars in the sky." I answered simply. His eyes grew as wide as dinner plates. "Really? That's so many! I like looking at the stars Madame. They are very bright at night. Why do they leave during the day?" he asked, almost sadly. The scientific explanation came to mind immediately, but once again, I had forgotten that that was something a four year old would not understand. "The stars need to sleep too, you know." I answered grinning. He smiled back at me, then his eyes fell upon my book. "Oh! I have seen those before. Those are books. Mamán has some, though she does not let me touch them. I took one from her once though, while she was sleeping." He grinned deviously. But then his expression grew confused. "But then I opened it, and there was nothing but lines and lines of… lettres? Oui, lettres is what they're called. But I couldn't read it like mamán can." He added sadly. I smiled. "Would you like me to teach you, Erik?" I asked him. His head snapped up, his eyes alive with flames of ecstasy. "Oui Madame, oui!" he exclaimed, bouncing where he sat. I looked at his suddenly eager skeletal features, and realized that without the correct level of reading material, it would be very difficult for a child to learn. I myself had but a scrap of education, how could I possibly teach another? But those eyes… those pleading eyes… "Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens…" I began.

**Author's Note: ****Hey guys! Wow, it's been at least two weeks since I last posted! I'm so sorry, and I hope what few readers I have I haven't lost because of my inactivity! Thank you for your patience, and I do hope you'll put up with me a bit longer to find out what happens next. ;) Now, in my rush to finish this chapter, I didn't really have time to research famous French novels of this time period, so I do hope good ol' Oliver will do the trick for you. **


	7. Chapter 7

I left a semi-happy Erik for work, today in plenty of time. He was absolutely adoring

Oliver so far, and I'd left the book with him, for he'd insisted that though he couldn't

read himself, he just felt better having it with him. After another long, tiring shift

was done and through, I headed back home to my flat, thinking only of the little boy.

Things finally seemed to be looking up for him. I smiled at the thought as I walked

down the busy streets of late afternoon Paris. There were women selling things like

hand spun ribbons, freshly grown vegetables, and baskets, men shouting out the

names of their businesses as loud and cheerfully as their lungs would allow, children

in fine cotton clothing running about giggling. It was like a dream, this perfect

moment, where everyone is merry and busy. But I knew better. This was not reality,

the real world for most was one these jolly citizens would never see. It was the

world of the shadows, of the dirt, of the poor. It was the world Erik and I both came

from. One of cruelty and despair. As much as I'd appreciated how well the last

several years had went, I knew I could never forget the real world I'd come from, the

hard, cold reality of poverty. And even if it did stray from my mind, the memories of

Marius remain, giving me as much grief as the state of my youth did. It was this that

ran through my head as one of the desperate saleswomen came up to me, shoving

her basket in my face. She was smiling like a madman, and I found it extremely

disturbing. "My dear, what a skinny li'l thing you ah! Buy some bread, put some skin

on those bones." She said. I was about to decline and shove her away when out of

the corner of my eye, I saw two stick thin, grimy, sullen children watching this

woman and her basket from the shadows, eyes like a dog's after being beat. I

wordlessly handed the woman enough money for two whole loaves, and, ignoring

her "Bless you child!" and thanks. I walked right over to the two children, a boy

about twelve or so by the looks of it, and a little girl no older than four. The boy

stepped in front of the little girl protectively, but she just kept staring, frozen, at the

bread in my hand. "Hello little ones. Are you hungry?" The little girl started nodding

vigorously, but the boy stepped completely in front of her, blocking her from view.

"Madame, we know the likes of ye. We 'ave noffing to give you, so keep your bread."

I held back a laugh at his fierce protectiveness, saying, "It's alright child, I ask for

nothing in return. I want to give you this bread, free of any charges." He slit his eyes,

then looked down at the little girl, who I knew must be his sister. "Anton, I am so

'ungry. Can we please take it?" She had the saddest little eyes you ever did see, and

Anton caved as soon as she set them upon him. I handed him the bread, which he

took with a final cautious glare, and the little girl squealed and grabbed me around

the legs. "Thank you m'am, thank you!" I patted her head, and her brother grabbed

her hand, saying, "Alright Adri, let's get go'in then. Uhh.. oui. Thank you Madame."

He mumbled to me as they disappeared into the shadows. I smiled sadly after them,

realizing how dark their futures looked. Even if they had parents, which I was

almost certain they didn't, living on the streets changed you. That I knew from first

hand experience. I walked back out of the alley, continuing down giddy lane, almost

_angry_ at these emulations with their perfect little lives. Could they not see the

people moaning in the shadows, innocent children whose lives had been ruined

before they'd even begun? But the longer I thought about it, the more I realized that

I was dwelling on something that would not change. There was only so much I could

do about it, and for now, I was doing it. Helping to make Erik's life better. My mind

snapped back to the child, and I started to look around for something, anything, that

could serve as a substantial form of entertainment. Impressed as I was by Erik's

creation of the cloth doll, I knew it would probably not last very long. That's when I

saw it; the perfect gift. It lay, practically gleaming, behind the spotless glass window

of an independently owned shop. A small set of a reed wind pipe and finger harp.

They were tied together with an expensive looking red silk ribbon, and I knew Erik

would adore it. I didn't even know if he knew what instruments were, but there was

just something about the boy that screamed musical. And even if my assumptions

are wrong, how could anyone dislike music? I pressed my nose up against the glass

like a little girl out shopping with her mother, but then I practically choked when I

saw the big whopping price tag tied delicately to the ribbon. I swallowed, trying to

get rid of the newly developed lump in my throat. But all in one moment, the lump of

grief went away, and one of anxious anticipation set in. There was only one way for

me to get those fine instruments. But I was so out of practice, after so many years,

and what would happen if I got caught? What would become of Erik then? But I

could just see his yellow eyes light up, a smile stretching so widely across his face

that it threatened to tear his poor, paper-like skin. How could I deny him such a

pleasure? I slipped into the shop, palms sweating. The second I entered I was hit

with a haze of cigar smoke, and it made me cough, the scent was so strong. I

wandered around for at least ten minutes, pretending to ooh and ahh at the random

knick knacks up for sale. As I walked past the ledge of the window display, I feigned

feeling the fine cotton dress draped next to my target, the snapped it up with a lick

of my wrist, slipping it into my coat sleeve with ease. I held back a grin, ashamedly

proud of how easily and smoothly I'd unearthed my terrible skill. I then made a

show of reaching into my pocket and slapping my forehead, sighing, "Oh dear,

you've forgotten your coin purse again. Forgive me Monsieur, I shall return another

day when I'm not being my usual careless self." I looked up at the pudgy man behind

the counter, widening my eyes for a mock innocent effect. He nodded at me,

chuckling. "That's quite alright, m'am. We all 'ave our days." I smiled sweetly at him,

walking out of the shop, secretly triumphant. My prideful grin remained on my face

until all of a sudden, I bumped into a very broad chest. I stumbled, catching my prize

just when it was about to slip out of my sleeve. I looked up, and could feel the color

draining from my face. A policeman's hard, no nonsense face was staring down at

me, and from where I now was on the ground, he towered over me like the he was a

giant in a storybook. Just when I thought my fate had been sealed, just when I

thought I'd be strung up by morning, a sort of smile broke through his stone mask of

severity, and he extended his hand. "Forgive me Mademoiselle, I did not see you." I

took his hand, praying to the Lord Almighty he wouldn't feel my bulging sleeve, and

he helped me up off the ground. "That's quite alright Monsieur, I probably should be

watching where I walk." I said, cheeks flushing slightly. He chuckled, replying, "Well,

it seems you mind was elsewhere, and when deep in thought, sometimes you can

lose your focus. I cannot tell you how many times I catch myself doing just the same."

I smiled at him, letting my tenseness slowly unwind. He seemed to be benign enough,

nothing like the merciless Inspector I'd known in my day, Javert. And the man was

much younger than Javert as well. Now that I looked at him without his lawful

grimace, he looked only a bit older than I. I held back a laugh as I thought, '_And they _

_say the rebels of the barricade were no more than schoolboys!' _Usually the police were

older men, or else there were at least middle aged. This man looked like he could be

a student himself. I nodded at him, then began walking again, and was surprised to

see that he strode and kept pace with me. "Where is such a lovely young lady off to

so late in the afternoon?" he questioned. A red flag shot up in my thoughts. Was he

suspicious of me, or simply trying to make polite conversation? I laughed breezily.

"Lovely young lady eh? Monsieur, you are too kind. I'm just on my way back from

work, enjoying the market at its finest."

"How would you like an escort?" he grinned almost eagerly. Eager to catch

me in the act perhaps? Nevertheless, I took his outstretched arm, figuring acting

suspicious by rejecting his offer would only make things worse. We walked towards

my apartment, an uncomfortable silence setting in between us. Suddenly, he perked

up to a sudden realization. "Mademoiselle, I don't know your name!"

"Éponine." I told him simply. I was relieved when he didn't ask for my last

name, and less suspicious than if he had. But he just nodded, walking on. "And you

sir?" I asked politely.

"Quentin." He smiled, tipping his hat to me. I giggled, curtsying in return.

Then, before the silence could return, I asked, "So Monsieur Quentin, what task was

so inconspicuous that it was immediately cut when I came along?" He laughed,

saying, "I was simply completing my rounds, bored as ever, when you I walked right

into a certain rare beauty." He winked at me. I smiled and shook my head, laughing.

"Your flatteries are quite embellished Monsieur, but I appreciate them nonetheless."

"No, no Mademoiselle I speak nothing but the truth. You are certainly the

most pleasant thing I've laid eyes on today." He chuckled, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Considering the things you officers lay eyes on, how do I know that's a

compliment?" I fired back, cocking my eyebrow with a grin. He let out a bellowing

laugh, replying, "Why Miss Éponine, you're as clever as a fox!" I thanked him, and we

arrived at my tenement. "Well, this is where I live. Thank you for the escort, and

have a nice rest of your day." I curtsied, smiling politely. He bowed, answering, "The

pleasure was all mine Mademoiselle. I do hope I'll see you again some other day."

"You might just get lucky." I winked before going inside. My distrust had long

since evaporated, and now I just smiled the man's summer disposition. Of all the

policemen in Paris, I come across the friendly one right after a robbery! I felt the

protruding lump in my sleeve, smiling to myself with certain conceit. Had I really

just pulled that off? "Yes!" I hissed to myself before rushing up the stairs.

The next day, I flew excitedly down to Erik's flat, his gift clutched in my hand with

that silky red ribbon. I began picking the lock, accidentally dropping my hairpin

because of my overexcited hands' unremitting shaking. "Erik?" I whispered when I

finally got inside. A whimper was all the reply I got. My eagerness melted away

instantly, and I dropped the package, bursting into the room. He lay, curled up on

the ground in the darkest corner of the room, shrouded in shadow but obviously

injured. "Good God! Erik, what happened?" I asked him frantically. I don't know why

I asked, I already knew what. Or, who, should I say. "M—M—Mamán didn't like

Frédéric." He stuttered, lip quivering and eyes closed tight. My eyebrows knit

together in confusion. "Sorry, who?" I questioned. He slowly sat up and held up his

ragdoll, who he cradled in his arms like he was holding his own flesh and blood. I

felt like someone had taken my heart and thrown it at the ground, shattering like the

glass bottles I so often cleaned up at the bar. "Oh." Was all I could say. Then he

snapped. He sank back to the ground, retching sobs escaping his lips. "I—I—I just

wanted a—a friend Madame! I wanted s—s—someone to… play with when you

were not here! I—I tried to hide h—him, but she tore him from my hands! She

screamed, 'W—witchcraft! Work of the d—devil!' W—w—what does that _mean_ Miss

Éponine? I can tell it is bad from the way she yells it, but what does it mean?" he

cried, on the brink of hysterics. Soon his sobs overtook him, and he couldn't even

speak. I was grateful I hadn't spoken to Madeline since the day I'd met Erik, for I

think if I had, I would have attempted to tear her throat out. She was just…. I

couldn't even think of a word vile enough to describe her. I took the little boy off the

ground and placed him on my lap, stroking his hair as he curled up against me. His

tears soaked into one of the few dresses I owned, but I couldn't care less at the

moment. "Shh.. it's alright bien-aimée, it's alright. You're safe with me, she can't hurt

you when I'm here." He rubbed at his eyes, then looked up at me and said, "But what

about when you leave? Can you stay forever Miss Éponine? I don't—I don't want her

to hurt me anymore." He quavered. I just squeezed him tighter, for what could I say?

I couldn't stay forever, though I wish I could, but I couldn't throw him to the wolves

for so long every day either. So for now, as I mused for a solution, I just held him and

soothed him, taking his mask off and wiping his tears right off his sunken cheeks.

For at least a half an hour, if not more, we just sat there as his tears slowed. That's

when he noticed what I'd left lying on the ground by the door. "Wh—what's that

Madame?" he sniffled. I smiled and put him back on the ground, getting up and

walking over to pick up the package. "A present for a certain special someone I know

has been a good boy." I replied, smiling down at him. His eyes widened in delight.

"Me?" he squeaked, and I nodded. He began to reach for it keenly, but then his face

fell and his arms dropped back to his sides. He looked at the floor, and I asked,

"What's wrong?" When he looked back up at me, his eyes were glistening once more.

"Miss Éponine, I have not been a good boy. I can't have the… the present if I have not

been a good boy." I was confused, no, bewildered. How could this little face of

innocence misbehave? "How were you not a good boy Erik?" I probed. A single tear

rolled down his flimsy cheek, and he looked so crushed I could have scooped him up

right then to comfort him. "I… well, when Mamán was hitting me, I—I—shoved her

away, and she fell. She cried out Madame, so I know I must have hurt her! That is

why Erik is a very bad boy." He blubbered. I picked him up and balanced him on my

hip, whispering, "Erik, it's alright. You were just trying to protect yourself, and you

didn't mean to hurt her. You can still have the package." I told him, handing it to him.

I hated how he actually thought _he_ was the bad person, all for accidentally pushing

his abusive mother over while she was beating the life out of him. It left me awed

and boiling at the same time. But as soon as Erik saw the contents of the gift, and

those sweet little eyes lit up like candles, my passionate feelings disappeared and all

that remained was warmth, happiness, and pride. I showed him how to make

different sounds on the windpipe by putting his fingers over the holes, explained

that the size of the strings and pipes distinguished their sound, and told him about

the other wondrous types of music there were in the world. He was confused, for the

only music he'd ever heard was the children singing on the street and the occasional

street performer, so the concept of an orchestra, a choir, or an opera was difficult for

him to grasp. But I tried to explain it to him the best I could, finally just giving up and

singing to him. "_Alouette, gentille alouette, Alouette, je te plumerai. Je te plumerai le _

_bec, Je te plumerai le bec, Et le bec, et le bec, Alouette, Alouette ! Ah ! ah ! ah ! ah!"_ he

giggled in delight. "Miss Éponine, I like music! I like your singing! Can you teach me

music? To sing that song? That song is funny Madame."

"Of course Erik. We'll add that to your reading lessons. Which reminds me,

don't we have a story to catch up on?"

**Author's Note: ****Oh, please forgive your poor unhappy DonJuana! She is sorry, she is ever so sorry for the lack of updates! As punishment for this, you can choose to send:**

**Javert **

**(a fully grown) Erik**

**an Angry Madame Giry**

**After her. I hope you'll accept her… my… oh, never mind. I just can't rock the third person like Erik can. Thanks to ComicCartoonFreak13 for all of your great reviews and support, and for some of the inspiration to this chapter! (Your questions really got me thinking… ;) I'll try to update more often, please review (baby Erik smiles every time he reads one!) and thanks for reading! :D**


	8. Chapter 8

I could hardly believe it had been two and a half weeks already, and with only two

and a half weeks of lessons, Erik had learned to read most of the simple words

present in Oliver, write the alphabet, and even play Alouette on both his harp and

reed pipe. I wondered when it would stop amazing me that he had accomplished so

much in so little time, but the boy was a protégée, a little genius, and was positively

ravenous for knowledge. It had taken me at least a year to learn to write, and I was

still learning how to read, quite honestly. But he had learned faster than bread

molds, and I was amazed and on the brink of jealousy at the same time. But despite

my near envy, I enjoyed every minute I spent with the boy. He was innocent and

sweet, yet clever and mischievous at the same time. He'd really started to grow on

me, and with all the running around I was doing; Erik, work, home, repeat, it

certainly kept me busy. My mind busy. My thoughts busy. From _him_. Sure, I'd

thought about him less and less as the years passed; but somehow he was always

there. Just a whisper in the back in my mind, but taunting me every second I lived.

Nowadays, I would find myself forgetting about him for almost whole days, and all

thanks to ce garçon petit. I arrived at the flat that day, about to open the door when I

heard a faint sound coming from within. I pressed my ear up against the door, and

my eyes widened as I listened closer. It was the most beautiful song… the voice so

clear and seraphic that it seemed only the angels themselves could make anything

else like it. I opened the door, and saw Erik lying on his stomach, _Oliver Twist_ on the

floor beneath him, singing as he read. "_Alouette gentille alouette…"_ I was standing,

mouth agape in shock, when he looked up and saw me. "Miss Éponine!" he

exclaimed with a smile before getting up and running over to meet me. I was still in

a state of shock, and could not reach down to pick him up as I usually did. He got to

me and looked up with confusion in his eyes, for he'd grown used to our usual

method of greeting. "What is it Madame?" he asked. I shook my head slightly, trying

to shake off the haze. "Oh! Uh… I was just… your singing Erik…" I stammered. His

brow creased. "Is it bad Miss? I'm sorry, your voice is so pretty…" I cut him off

immediately. "No! Erik, your voice is incredible! I couldn't believe it!"

"Really? It _is_ good?"

"Oui. More than just good, great."

"Like yours?"

I'd never thought myself to have a great voice, maybe decent at the most. "Better." I

answered truthfully. He smiled gratefully, then put his arms up. I lifted him into my

arms, carrying him over to the chair I'd first found him hiding behind weeks before.

"What are we learning today Miss Éponine?" he asked me eagerly. I was quiet for a

minute, thinking about what the plan of the day could be, but then I knew in an

instant. "Alright Erik, we're going to go on a little excursion." I smiled at him. Before

he could ask, I took off my coat and wrapped it around him, making it so only his

face was peeking out. "What are you doing Miss Éponine?" he asked, his

bewilderment growing. I didn't answer, simply got up and walked out the door,

closing it behind me. I heard a muffled gasp, and looked down to see Erik's eyes

wide in a sort of amazed fear. "We're… we're leaving the room?" he breathed. I

nodded, and he frowned, a panicked expression setting in. "But… but… but… Mamán

says that I can never leave! She says that my face is so horrid that the people will try

to kill me if I leave!" he whimpered. I hugged him closer to me, attempting to

encourage him. "Don't worry Erik. I won't let anyone harm you. You just have to

trust me, alright?" After a moment's hesitation, he nodded, and off we went.

Though Erik was almost completely hidden from sight, I stayed in the shadows to be

sure that no one would notice us. I couldn't stop smiling as we got nearer and nearer

to our destination, knowing that Erik would love what I was about to show him. And

as we neared, I also began to hear exactly what I was hoping to; the quiet drone of a

violin in the distance. "What…. What is _that_ Madame?" Erik asked, sounding

mystified. I didn't answer him, simply kept walking until we were standing about

ten feet away from the street performer, who was dancing a hearty jig as he sawed

away at his violin. I recalled an earlier time when I walked this street in the first few

years of my second life, smiling to myself at the perseverance and giddiness of the

man. I'd returned a few times that week, walking up and down the street just to

listen, and was surprised to find that every day he was there, in the same spot, the

same excited smile on his face. It had been a few years since then, but I'd hoped that

he would still be there, though something in his eyes from my memories told me he

would til the day he died. I stayed pressed up against the wall as we watched, other

people passing by without so much as a second glance. But Erik and I stayed for

what felt like hours, just watching this music man's arm moving at the speed of light.

I kept looking down at Erik, and his mouth was agape, his eyes wider than I'd ever

seen them. He looked completely spellbound, and I smiled triumphantly when I saw

so. "That's a violin, Erik." I told him after a while. He didn't answer, and I held back a

giggle. He was just so absorbed in the music, I doubt he'd even heard me. All too

soon, the man took a break, and Erik broke out of his trance. "What… vio…" he

breathed.

"Oui Erik, violin. It's an instrument for making music, like your harp and reed

pipe," I explained. He looked up at me, a smile suddenly breaking through his dazed

expression. "It's so beautiful Miss Éponine! How does he… with just… and… but…" he

stuttered, and I supressed a laugh. It was so strange, his being so dumbfounded by

something I'd never really paid much attention to all my life. It had always been

there, and I guess I'd sort of taken it for granted. "Well, he pulls the bow across the

strings, and presses his fingers down on them at different times. You need to have

very quick fingers to play the violin." I told him.

"Like this?" he asked before holding his own up and waving them around

frenziedly, beaming and giggling.

"No… like this!" I exclaimed before swooping in to tickle him. His melodious

little laugh made me laugh right along with him, it was as contagious as the Red

Plague. I suddenly recalled, looking down at his poor, deformed, happy face, my

childhood with Cossette. I would hear her talking and singing to herself about her

mother, who was working hard to get her medicine, loved her very much, and would

be back for her someday. I remembered hearing my parents talking about the

woman, Fantine, and how she was out of a job, easy to fool, and desperate to do

what was best for Cossette. I'd thought at the time, '_What kind of a mother never _

_visits her daughter?'_ but now I realized that she'd loved Cossette more than my

mother had loved me, so much that she would do anything, even take a certain _easy _

_job_, to support and protect her. Is this how she'd felt about Cossette? The way I felt

about Erik? Every time in the last two weeks he'd tell me of his mother's

wrongdoings, I'd wanted to kill her myself, or at least be there to put myself in front

of him when she tried to hurt him. I really cared for him, and admittedly worried

about what I was going to do if a beating went too far. I tried to push this to the back

of my mind, and I decided to take him to the marketplace for a little while instead of

heading right home. He was a bit disappointed when he discovered we'd be leaving

the man and his "magic" violin, but as soon as we reached the edge of the bustling

marketplace, his disappointment evaporated. I tried to answer all of the questions

he shot at me; for this was all a new, foreign world to him. He marvelled at a stand

selling multicolored scarves, gaped at a potter at his wheel, and admired the flowers

one woman held in a basket. I tucked him into the coat, then walked up to the

woman, buying just a single red rose. I gave it to Erik once we were back on the

sidelines, and he hugged my arm in return. Just when I thought I'd given him the

story behind every speck of the area, I saw a familiar face in the crowd. The police

officer, Quentin, from a few weeks ago. I cursed under my breath, and I heard Erik

gasp. "Madame! Isn't that a naughty word?" he asked, blameless eyes wide. I

frowned, disappointed in myself. "Oui. I'm sorry Erik, I didn't mean too. I shouldn't

have said that." I almost laughed hearing myself say that; when I was a street girl, I'd

cuss like there was no tomorrow. But I was obviously a changed woman now. Street

girl and caretaker were two very different things. I turned my attention back to the

officer, not wanting to answer any questions that might come with his seeing an

oddly arranged pile of fabric, or worse, a child. He hadn't seen me yet, so I slipped

into the alleyway closest to us, crouching down next to an old crate. "What's going

on Miss Éponine?" Erik asked, jutted brow furrowed. I just put my finger to my lips

in reply, warning him to be quiet. He nodded in return, fear flashing through his

eyes. I pulled him close to my chest to comfort him, not wanting him to be

frightened. After at least ten minutes, I put him down next to the crate and said,

"Alright Erik, I'll be right back. I'm going to see if I see… anyone I know." I told him.

His lip began to quiver. "But Miss Éponine, I don't want to be by myself!"

"It's ok Erik, I'll be right around the corner. I won't move more than five big

steps away." I smiled, hoping to calm his anxiety. He took a deep breath, and put on

a brave face, and I ruffled his hair before taking three overdramatic steps to the

corner. I took two more to peek around it, and, to my relief, Quentin seemed to have

moved on. I ran right back to Erik saying, "See? I was right there the whole time."

Before picking him back up and heading for home. When we returned, I realized that

the little delay had gotten us back just in the nick of time, and that I would probably

have to run to get to work on time. Perfect. Well, at least the drunkards couldn't

make their usual suggestive slurs if I wasn't "lovely" but red and panting. I patted

Erik on the head in farewell and turned to the door, but he said, "Wait Miss Éponine!"

I stopped and turned to look at him, bouncing my knee impatiently. He ran over to

the corner he usually retreated to and snatched something up into his tiny fist. He

ran back over to me and looked up into my eyes. "Thank you for taking me to the

marketplace, and for showing me the violin. I made this for you yesterday, after you

had gone to your work." He beamed, holding it up. It was a necklace. The string was

made out of some of the cloth I'd given him, and there were three small items

hanging from it; a button, a tiny stone, and a small piece of wood with an "É" carved

into it. I took it and tied it on immediately, admiring the wood especially. "Good

letters Erik!" I praised, and he looked down bashfully.

"Merci. And since we both start with "E" you can think of both of us when you

see it." He explained. I gave him a quick hug, thanking him again, then ran off, still

rubbing the wood with my thumb. How could someone so thoughtful and innocent

have to deal with so much unmentionable evil? It didn't seem right that God would

allow such a thing. Even with all the hatred he'd received from his mother, he still

remained happy and caring, almost too generous for his age. I barely paid attention

when I did get to work, and I'd soon find myself regretting that. At one point, I was

so lost in thought, I didn't even realize I was being called. And the only thing that

brought me back to reality was a cold, wet slap in the face. "You best be paying

attention wench!" a stranger drawled, putting down his now empty cup. My hands

snapped to my burning eyes, attempting to rub the alcohol out of them; only making

things worse. It was excruciating to open my eyes again, but I endured it to give the

man a stare like daggers. My eyes had welled up from the cruel blaze of the ale, and

he practically doubled over in laughter when he saw. My anger bubbled up and

seared almost as greatly as the pain in my blurred vision, and I threw my arm back

and punched him right in the nose. There was a satisfying crunch, and he fell back

out of his seat, howling in pain. I found myself nearly laughing from the irony for the

second time today; I hadn't punched anyone like that in years. 'Parnasse had taught

me how to punch in my (first time 'round) teens, and I remembered walking with a

prideful bounce to my step afterwards, thinking I was surely the toughest girl on the

streets. Snapping back from my flashback, I turned to the gaping men of the tavern,

who were all staring wide-eyed at my moaning victim. "And if any of you, that

includes you Monsieur," I glared at the man, who had lifted his head off the floor,

fear in his eyes, "tell Monsieur Dubois or anyone else about this little incident, a

broken nose _will seem kind of me._" They all nodded vigorously, and I turned back to

the counter, smiling to myself. I heard someone applauding, and glanced back to see

Louis Fournier whistling and clapping. "What a feisty devil you are!" he praised. I

couldn't help it; I curtsied.

I left work that day, face neutral, for Monsieur Dubois had paid us a visit, and I didn't

want to give away what I had been up to. I tried not to laugh when he entered and

the place went dead silent; each man practicing a nervous habit such as twiddling

his thumbs, bouncing his knee, or glancing around frantically. I knew I had made my

point; that I would not be crossed, that I would not put up with any funny business

anymore. I had dealt with it accordingly in the past, but I was at my wits end. I

wandered around the marketplace for about an hour, maybe more, but I lost track of

time as I stared at the perfect, spotless part of town. After I left, I headed home,

absentmindedly rubbing the necklace I'd so carefully hidden beneath the collar of

my dress. I was at least halfway to my tenement building, lost in thought, when a

few yards away I saw Madeline walking with a woman I didn't recognize. Anger

swelled inside me as I gazed upon her evil face, but I attempted to reign it in as I got

closer, just a few steps behind. I cocked my head to hear better like my father had

taught me, and listened to their conversation. "Thank you for walking me back,

Netta. I've been scared of my own shadow lately, and walking with someone is very

comforting." Madeline said, her voice innocent and frightened. My hands twitched at

my side. How can she speak of her petty fears when she forcefully drives absolute

terror into the heart of her poor son? "Oh, no problem at all! I hate to see you so

jumpy. What is it that's frightening you, Madeline?" the other girl, Netta, asked.

Madeline was silent for a moment, but then she said, "Can you keep a secret Netta?"

I saw the back of Netta's head move up and down, nodding. "Good. Well it all started

with a man." I inwardly groaned, half in dread that she was going to tell the woman

about Erik, half in realization of what I was going to have to listen to. I gagged as the

story progressed, sighing quietly in relief as she finally got to Erik. Her

unmentionable descriptions boiled me to the bone, but I just continued standing by,

anxious to see where this would go. "And now the bloody demon—for I'm sure

that's what he is, just sits in my flat, wasting all of my hard earned bread." She

practically growled.

"Why don't you put him in a boy's home?" Netta suggested, and I wanted to

strangle her too at the idea.

"I wish! No boy's home would take that monster. I'm stuck with the imp.

Unless…" she trailed off, and I tensed.

"Unless what? There's got to be some way to get rid of the boy. He's causing

you so much misery, not to mention what _could _happen to you if anyone found out

that you… had him." Netta said nervously.

"I'll kill him. Yes, kill the little bastard, finish him off! The world'll be _better_

when he's dead!"

**Author's Note:**** DUN DUN DUUNNNN! Of course I would leave you guys hangin', cause I'm just a mean person. XD And sorry about the late update AGAIN, but I'll try to get one up at least every week. Next chapter's gonna be major le drama, so keep reading and R&R! Erik's education has advanced so greatly because of the reviews he gets to read! **


	9. Chapter 9

A wave of panic instantly washed over me, and I couldn't help it. "Madeline, give the

child to me!" I said, running up to walk next to them. Her eyes flashed several

emotions; anger, suspicion, irritation, panic. "What do _you_ know of him?" she asked,

her voice icy and her eyes slitted.

"I overheard you talking to your friend here." I answered honestly.

"How dare you spy on me! Little snoop!" she hissed, glaring at me.

"Please Madeline, I just want to help. If you no longer want the child, let me

take care of him for you." I pleaded. She simply snorted in return. "That boy cant be

helped, he is one of the devil!" That sent me over the edge. "Well how dare _you_ abuse

him because of his face!" I snarled before I could stop myself. Her eyes widened, and

I realized how great of a blunder I had just made. Netta had fled at the first sign of

trouble, leaving Madeline and I alone on the street. "How do you know of his wicked

face?" she asked, voice tight with suspicion and rage. Well, no turning back now.

"Alright, I have seen him. But please Madeline, my intentions are only of the best

kind!" She was shaking with anger, her fury pulsing through her veins, causing her

face to turn bright red. "How _dare_ you break into my home, you piece of scum! You

can be _sure_ the police will hear of this!" she screeched. I decided to make one last

attempt at reasoning with her. "Please Madeline, I just want to help the child! He

knows no life outside of your home!"

"Nor should he! A monster like him should never be allowed to touch

anything created by God!" she spat back, and I gave her a look so burningly filled

with hatred I was surprised she didn't burst into flames. "When you abuse him,

_you're _the monster, not he." I uttered coolly. Then I took off running. It wasn't much

of a challenge, outrunning her, for I was used to dodging pedestrians, pacing my

breath, and using shortcuts, and she had to stop every few seconds to avoid crashing

into someone. Soon, I got to the apartment building, and she was nowhere in sight. I

didn't take any time to look for her, just ran inside and up to Erik's floor as fast as I

could. I got inside, and Erik looked up when he saw me, eyes brightening. "Miss

Éponine!" he exclaimed, running over to me. I grabbed his hand and started tugging

him to the door. "Madame, where are we going?" he asked me, tone rich in confusion.

"You're going to come stay with me for a little while." I told him, still

nervously gravitating towards the door. A smile stretched dangerously wide across

his face, but then it disappeared. "But why?" I stopped, biting my lip. What could I

tell him? He was so delicate…

"Your mamán… well, she… needs some time to herself." I managed to put

together. He turned his head, but I saw his eyes well up. "She doesn't want me near

her… she always tells me to go away… she screams bad things at me. Am I bad Miss

Éponine? Is that why she's sending me away? I try not to be but—" I cut him off

before my heart gave out from breaking so much. "Erik, it's not your fault. Your

mother just doesn't care for you like I do. So you'll come to live with me, and she will

never hurt you again, and I will be your new mamán, how does that sound?"

"But you're not my mamán. You're Miss Éponine." He answered matter-o-

factly.

"Well I can be your mamán from now on. You won't have to wear your mask

or worry about her hurting you anymore, and I will buy you lots of sweets. How

does that sound?" I replied, attempting to persuade him as quickly as possible.

"But if _you're _my mamán… does that mean _you _will strike me?" he asked, a

sudden fear creeping into his voice. I squeezed me eyes shut to prevent the tears

from flowing past my eyelids. He had associated mothers with beatings, not love as

he should have, all because of _her. _"No Erik, I promise as long as I am you mamán, I

will never strike you." He smiled at me again, any traces of fear now gone. "Merci,

Miss Éponine! Can I just go get Frédéric? And my instruments? And my Oliver book?"

he asked, and I nodded. He scrambled off to his little corner, and I held back a groan

as he grabbed his mask too. I didn't want him to think he needed it, though I knew it

was probably best. The outside world hadn't seen the horrible things I'd seen in the

past, which I assumed had prepared me for Erik's face. They might not handle it as

casually as I did. After he'd collected all his few, ratty things, I picked him up and ran

up to my flat, putting all the food I had in the house, every bit of my savings, my

precious books, a few clothing changes, and some things I thought I could always

sell if I needed to, into a big bag I'd sewed myself (with much blood, sweat, tears,

and time, mind you), and then put Erik down, kneeling down to look him in the eyes.

"Erik, I need you to promise me something." I said, eyes forlorn. His own widened,

but he nodded slowly. "If I tell you to leave me behind, to go hide somewhere, to run

away; you need to do just that. No looking back, just getting as far away as you can.

Can you do that for me?" I asked him, taking a deep breath as I tried to keep my

voice even. I saw his eyes well up just the slightest bit, but he nodded. "Alright then."

began. "Let's go."

"But, we won't have to be separated, will we Miss Éponine?"

I took in a deep shuddering breath, but he didn't seem to hear. I just couldn't stand

the thought of him having to fight this battle on his own, but I'd rather have him safe,

free, and alone than captive and potentially in danger. "I certainly hope not dear." I

replied. Then I picked him back up again and we ran out the door. I again used the

alleyways, treading as quietly and inconspicuously as I could, him nearly buried in

our various bags in my arms. I went to the only place I could think to go under the

circumstances, the only place I knew well enough to be able to hide there. The

tavern. I wished there was a cleaner, quieter, more _polite_ place I could take such a

young boy, but I knew this was the best I was going to get. '_Besides,' _I thought,

attempting to reassure myself, '_it's just a quick stop here, a little wait til nightfall, _

_then off to a better life.' _I rushed right past all the dailies when I entered, trying to

shield Erik's ears from their suggestive comments. I went straight back to the

storeroom, where I put Erik down and had him sit. "Alright Erik, I'm going to go out

there to make sure you mamán didn't see us come in here. Then I'll come back, and

tonight we'll leave for the country." I explained, standing up. I was about to turn

away when I felt a sudden weight on my legs. "No, no, no Miss Éponine! I don't want

you to go! Please don't leave me!" he cried out. I lifted him into my arms and stroked

his head as he curled up against my chest. "Shh… hush mon cher. You'll be fine, I'll be

fine, and soon we'll leave this terrible place and start a new life and be a real family."

I soothed. He looked up at me with those pup-like eyes, still glistening slightly from

his tears. "A f—f—family? A real family? Oliver wanted a family, Madame. I want a

family too. You promise me we _will _be a family?"

"Of course. You will be my son, and I will care for you as if you were my own

flesh and blood."

"If I will be your son… can I call you Mamán?"

I gave him a tight hug, and whispered in his ear, "Of course you can. I would love if

you did." Then I put him down and sternly said, "Now, I must go. I promise I'll be

back as soon as I'm done. Wait for me here." He nodded solemnly, then retreated to

he corner of the storeroom, out of habit, it would seem. I cracked open the door and

peeked around, then stepped out into the dim light of the bar. I quickly hurried out

the door and down the dark street, scoping out the places I predicted would be

familiar to Madeline. I went down the way she'd been coming from at the time of the

confrontation, and within twenty minutes found the factory she worked at. As soon

as I had I receded back down the street and started back towards the general

direction of the tavern. Why hadn't I yet run into her? Where could she be lurking?

_What if_… I gasped as the thought flashed through my mind and I broke into a sprint.

_What if she's found where I've hidden Erik?_ I forgot about being discreet and

continued running as fast as my legs could carry me right down the middle of the

street. Probably not my best idea. "Whoa there, where's the fire Madame?" someone

yelled from behind me. I cussed under my breath and turned around. I felt like I

could cry when I saw a huge, burly police officer standing there. "I—I— well…" I

stuttered. '_Fichu 'Ponine, when'd you get bad under pressure?' _I thought angrily to

myself. "I just heard… my sister was mugged… I'm trying to get home as fast as I can."

I babbled, wondering how in the world karma could have chosen such a terrible

moment to get me back for all I'd done in my life. Despite my horribly unconvincing

story, he seemed to buy it. A look of concern flashed through his stone eyes, and he

said, "Oh, of course. Well if you need to file a report on this, come on down to the

station." He said, bowing his head. I nodded back, then turned to go, trying to hold

back my sigh of relief until I was out of sight. But I only made it a few steps. "Quick

Monsieur, stop her! She's a kidnapper!" another rough voice shouted. No sooner

than I began to sprint again was I thrown to the ground, a crushing weight on top of

me. "I've got her sir!" the man I'd spoken to shouted. Then he whispered to me,

"You're in quite a heap of trouble, miss. First you lie to an officer, now I hear of you

kidnapping? Humph. And I thought you were such a sweet looking thing…" he

growled as the others arrived and yanked me to my feet. "Vous avez le droit de

garder le silence, le mensonge salope." A younger looking guard spat, and an older

and wiser officer nudged him roughly in disapproval before turning to me. "Don't

struggle and this will be easier for both of us." I couldn't answer, I was just so

choked up by tears. I let them freely spill down my cheeks, cursing myself for getting

caught, for being careless, for abandoning Erik when he needs me most. He could

starve, he could be ridiculed, he could be…

A loud, hysterical sob broke free of the tight line I'd pressed my lips into, and two

out of the five officers turned to look at me strangely. I probably looked absolutely

mad, which was most likely not helping my case at all, but I just couldn't fight back

the horrible images of Erik's future solitude in my head. They quite literally dragged

me to the station (I couldn't walk even if I'd wanted to), and once we were locked

inside we turned the corner, and there was Madeline, arms crossed, standing in

front of the chief inspector and yet another officer, glaring daggers at me. I went

over all the techniques my rascal of a father had taught me; "_shoodja evah get cought _

_doin' me dirty wark." _picking one of the easiest ones to apply and work with in most

situations. "Monsieurs, what is the meaning of this? There better be a good

explanation for my being dragged here this late at night!" I snarled, playing angry

victim.

"What do you mean, what is the meaning of this Miss Éponine? You

kidnapped my child!" Madeline screeched back at me.

I let my mouth fall open, then I grit my teeth. "That is absolutely

_preposterous_! How _dare_ you accuse me of such!"

No, how _dare _you tell such spiteful lies in front of these fine men here!" she

fired back, and the officer I'd lied to earlier nodded in agreement.

'_Nevah let op…' _I could almost hear my father's voice whisper.

"I demand to be released! Either you've got the wrong girl, gentlemen, or _I'm _

not the liar here!" I hissed, staring pointedly at Madeline. The surrounding officers

began to show signs of discomfort, and I held back a smile, though I kept up my act.

Madeline looked about ready to burst, and for a moment I thought she wasn't even

breathing in her anger, but then began screaming at me. Pity. "I will not stand for

this little game of lies to go on any longer! You've broken into my home, spied on me,

and now abducted my child! I want her arrested this instant!" she turned to the

officers, who were now clearly displaying their anxiousness. Before they could step

towards me, I said, "Madame, for the last time, you must be mistaken! My name is

not Éponine, and I've never seen you before in my life." That did it. I'd prodded the

lion until it roared. She let out a shriek of utter rage and frustration so abysmal it

would have made banshees themselves shudder, and before anyone could stop her,

she lunged for me. I sidestepped calmly out of her way, and she skidded to a halt on

the ground. The officers caught, restrained, and attempted to calm her, but she was

like a wild animal. "Give me my child!" she snarled, crazed eyes burning into mine. I

couldn't help it, I smugly needed to push her just a bit further. "Madame, forgive me,

but are you even married? How can you have a child?" I asked innocently. There was

such a look of hatred, vengeance, and pure malice in her eyes when she screeched

ravenously at me once more that I actually had to look away. It was so evil, it was as

if the devil himself were staring me down. The chief inspector cleared his throat

then, and I turned to look at him. "I express my humblest apologies Madame, and I

do hope you'll forgive us for so shamelessly forcing you here and wasting your time.

It seems you are not the one needing… containment." He said, glancing over at

Madeline. I smiled warmly and replied, "Apology accepted Monsieur l'Inspecteur, I

know you were just doing your job." I was about to curtsy and turn away when I

heard one of the officers behind me say, "Oh, here's the rest of the unit." The

Inspector nodded, and I snorted. "What, did you send half the army after me?" The

Inspector chuckled, and I turned to see two more officers walk in. I couldn't

suppress a look of horror as I realized I recognized on. "Éponine?" Quentin asked.

**Author's Note: **** And so the plot thickens! And DonJuana… *****gasps* got two updates in in one week? How is this possible? Well, luck mainly I guess. Very rare luck. XD Anyway, I hope the suspense isn't killing you because of my habit of "cutting things off right at the best part"; I'll try to get out another update out ASAP. R&R guys, ****É****ponine says Erik's learning so fast that he's running out of reading material! Hope you're enjoying! :D**


	10. Chapter 10

"AHA! See? I told you! I told you! Let go of me you big bafoons and arrest that

menteur terribles!" Madeline screamed the second Quentin had finished speaking.

For a moment, everyone just stood there dumbfounded, staring at Quentin,

Madeline, or (mostly) me. The Inspector's mouth was hanging open, probably

wondering how I could have lied so well that it got past his military training. After

those seconds which ticked by like years, one of the officers finally came to their

senses and grabbed me, forcing me down to my knees. I said nothing, just let the

tears form in my eyes as I thought of how close I had been to saving Erik, but they

had plenty to shout. "Corbeille de gouttière!" "Laide putain!" and "Diable trompeurs

épouse!" were among the favorites screamed at me by the fuming officers. The

Inspector came to his senses and said, "Officer Quentin, thank you kindly for

exposing this little leech. You came just in time; we were about to let her go, for her

lies were so convincing that she managed to coax us into a false sense of security

and make us think she was not the kidnapper we claimed her to be. Thanks to you,

she has been uncovered for what she really is; a dangerous con artist. Now," he

started, turning to me with disgust in his eyes, "enough of your lies. Where is the

child?" I looked away from him to Madeline, pridefully saying, "Tell me Madeline, if I

am the terrible liar you claim me to be, how did I manage to convince every one of

these men that you were a crazy old bat?" She hissed in anger, but there was a

triumphant look to her now, and she smugly watched as the Inspector slapped me

across the face. "Enough! You will answer my questions! Where have you hidden the

child?" I made a show of closing my mouth up tight, then glared at him silently. He

let out an angry huff of frustration, then lifted up his foot and shoved me to the

ground. "Maybe after a night locked away she'll be willing to talk." He said,

motioning two of the biggest guards forward. I closed my eyes as they yanked me up

off the ground and began dragging me away. I couldn't look at Quentin, knowing that

though I felt a sense of betrayal, it was not his fault. He'd been nothing but kind to

me when we'd met, and I'd returned it by deceiving him. This was obviously just

karma catching up to me. I was thrown into a dirty holding cell, enveloped in the

darkness, and once the door was locked and I was alone, I let the torrents of tears I'd

been holding back flow. Now, because I was careless, because of the law of

attraction, Erik could die. And there was no way to tell him to go on without me, to

run. We were both doomed. All I could think of for those miserable hours in the

damp, cold prison was Erik's future; what if they found him and returned him to

Madeline? She'd surely kill him for causing her so much trouble. What if someone

found him in the storeroom of the tavern? What if no one did, and he was trapped

there waiting for me until he starved to death? What if he caught a chill from the

shifting temperatures I always found to be present there? The more time passed, the

more worries popped into my head, and that's why I didn't hear the door to the

room open. It had been at least four hours of the deafening silence, so you'd think

my ears would prick at any little sound, but I guess my own sobs did a pretty good

job covering it up. "Éponine!" someone hissed. My head snapped up, now extremely

alert, and I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was someone in the

room, someone coming closer and closer to the cell. "Éponine!" the man said again,

more urgently. My jaw dropped. "Quentin? What are you doing here?" He was now

right up against the bars. "Being dangerously stupid, so it would seem. But how

about you answer some of my questions." I nodded, wanting nothing more than for

_someone _to hear me out. Maybe I could even get him to take a message to Erik for me.

I nodded, and he started with, "Just… what… you're…" I laughed weakly, but knew

exactly what he was trying to express. "I didn't kidnap the child. Well, I took him

away, but he went with me willingly." He frowned, a sad look crossing his eyes.

"Please… Mademoiselle I'm already very confused… I hear you deny

everything they accused you of, even your own name. Now I don't know whether I

should believe that statement or not. Just tell me the straight truth, it's the only way

I can listen."

I looked at him pleadingly. "Please, I'm begging you to believe me. I do speak to

truth! His mother, that woman Madeline, abuses him. When I first met the boy he

had a huge wound in his shoulder, and I found later that a blade had been used

against him. I was only trying to help him, and that's all I've been doing for a few

weeks now, but then earlier today I heard her threaten to kill him. That is why I took

him, to save his innocent little life. He truly is the most blameless creature Monsieur!

Exposed to such evil!" I gasped, beginning to sob again. Quentin was quiet for a few

minutes, watching me as I cried. After I'd calmed down, I began to shift

uncomfortably in the silence. Did he believe me? Then, he suddenly said, "But… you

broke into her home? You took the child?" I closed me eyes and nodded slowly. "And

where is he now?" he continued questioning. I snapped up and glared at him. "They

sent you in here, didn't they? They sent you to try to weasel answers out of me! Well,

forgive me _Monsieur_, but you will be getting no response to your trickery. I will

protect that child to my death bed." I retorted. He chuckled. Chuckled? What in the

world was there to _chuckle_ at? "Calm yourself Éponine, I swear to God's Almighty

name that I am here on my own accord." I relaxed just the slightest bit, but remained

silent, half of me still on guard. "Why?" I asked simply, staring suspiciously. He

looked away. "I just couldn't believe that such an amiable woman had done all they

accused you of. But it seems you have been a bit mischievous, haven't you?" I felt a

twitch of a smile, but I tried to keep my face neutral. "Believe me, Monsieur Quentin,

my skills in break and entry are not something I'm particularly proud of. But I

couldn't just sit by and watch as this child was tortured. Can you please try to

understand that, at least?" I pleaded, serious once more.

"I can. Honestly. You were so fearsome in protecting the child's location a

minute ago, I can just tell you don't mean to harm him. Quite the opposite, actually. I

believe you." He replied, and I didn't even try to test him to make sure he wasn't

telling me lies. There was a look in his eyes that told me he was ingenuous. I

breathed out a sigh of relief. "Thank you Monsieur, thank you! Now, can you please

do me a favor? I need you to bring a message to the child. Tell him that Miss Éponine

says to run, to leave the town. He'll be in the storeroom of—" I was interrupted by a

_thwunk!_ And an ear-piercing screech. I looked over confused, and realized that bars

no longer crossed in front of my view of Quentin. He was standing in front of me,

hand outstretched in the open door of the cell. I gasped. "I have a feeling he'll take it

better if you tell him yourself." He said, grinning. I beamed back, completely shocked

and ecstatic. "Why—wha—" I stuttered, trying to find the words.

"I know you're not un ravisseur fou Éponine, and if what you say is true, then

the child could be in great danger should his mother find him again. And you've

been nothing but kind to me, so why shouldn't I believe you?" he asked.

"And the same goes to you! Which is why I have a confession to make. I feel

so guilty now with your being so sympathetic to me. The day we met, when I was so

jumpy and distracted, it was because I had run into you right after I had stolen a toy

from a store for Erik." I admitted sheepishly. He let out a booming laugh, which I

wasn't expecting and jumped at the powerful sound of it. "Well, Miss Éponine, it

seems you are better at what you do than you give yourself credit for. I didn't

suspect a thing!" he chortled in amazement. I looked bewildered at him. "You are

awfully pliable when it comes to the law!" I said, and he chuckled again. "I just find it

amusing that I'm actually helping you escape though you have robbed, semi-

kidnapped, and nearly conned your way out of imprisonment. I just find you to be

the most exciting and intelligent woman I've ever met." He smiled, shaking his head.

I laughed. "And I find you to be the most casual policeman." with a wink. It was still

very dark, but I thought I saw his cheeks change color. "Well, it's never been my

desired career, but I guess exciting nights like this one make up for the insipidness

of the rest." He shrugged. I raised an eyebrow. "Not your choice career? Then why

do you opt in?" I asked him curiously. He frowned again in resignation. "Well that's

the key word there; choice. It was my father's. For when I was a young lad, I was told

that my uncle was one of the best chief inspectors in France, and after he committed

suicide, my father wanted me to follow in his footsteps to honor his memory. But a

life strict to law is so lonely, so difficult. You have to watch people's lives ruined

because maybe they are poor and just needed a bit of bread to satisfy themselves,

but didn't have the money to pay for it. That's why I try to be a bit more flexible than

the other officers. I just can't stand to see people condemned for such innocent

reasons." He finished, grimacing. My mouth was agape, but I soon realized how

tactless I must have looked and snapped it shut, asking, "Then why don't you quit

this way of life? Move onto something new?" He snorted, looking back at me with a

grin. "Isn't that what I'm doing tonight? I doubt I'll be allowed anywhere near this

place after they find out you've escaped." I giggled. "Very true." I took his

outstretched hand and he pulled me up off the ground, then we slipped out the door.

He poked his head into the main room, the motioned me forward and we ran out the

door. I almost cried out for joy at the feeling of the night's cool touch on my cheeks,

but I refrained and kept pace with Quentin. As soon as we were well away from the

police station, we slowed down and began talking again. I'd made a note to as him

something earlier, and had just then remembered it. "So Quentin, what was the

name of this uncle of yours?"

"Ah… I always have a difficult time recalling that. Hmm… well I don't at all

remember his first name, but he apparently took on another name after he left my

father and grandparents. What was… oh! Javert. Inspector Javert." He said, and I had

to bite my fist to keep from laughing. I'd actually suspected this as he was telling me

his story, with the timeframe and the 'best inspector in France' bit, but the irony of it

still shook me to the core. How could Quentin; a handsome, sympathetic, optimistic

young man possibly be related to Javert; the heartless fiend of a man I'd known?

L'Inspectuer had positively despised my family and I, having to be bothered with

settling our incessant crimes. I'd also poked fun at his hat once, and I don't think

he'd ever really forgiven me for it. I was about to say this when I realized Quentin

might flee in fear if I did. I was twenty six in this life, and if I'd been old enough to

speak during Javert's reign, I definitely shouldn't be this young now. So I reworded,

saying instead, "My father spoke of him once. Said he was ruthless in punishment,

but then again my father was unremitting in committing crimes." He laughed. "Ah..

so was a life of crime not one you chose after all?" he asked, grinning teasingly. I hit

him lightly on the arm, but laughed along with him. "No, not at all. My father was

part of a street gang, and I often got dragged into his cheats and scandals. I was

basically raised on corruption."

"It doesn't have to be the life you continue with, though. Forgive me, but why

do you carry on the way you have, stealing and lying?" he asked inquisitively.

"I haven't. No, don't you give me that strange look, I've just been picking up a

few old habits in order to help Erik secretly. It was the only way." I explained. He

nodded thoughtfully, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was still just so glad he

believed me in all this. That he risked his freedom to come free me. '_Why?' _I

suddenly thought, the madness of it dawning on me. "Why did you come free me?" I

asked after a long period of silence. He was quiet, suddenly staring at the ground as

if memorizing the cobblestones. Then, suddenly, his head snapped up, and before I

knew what was going on, I was being dragged in a full on sprint to the side of the

road, then thrown to the ground, a hand placed over my mouth. I shot him a look

that said, "_Mon dieu! What are you doing?"_ But as soon as he stared pointedly to the

street I understood. I could hear a faint clattering of hooves, and after a few minutes,

saw two policemen on horses pass us. They didn't seem to be in any sort of hurry, so

I knew they must not know I was gone yet, but they were definitely recognizable

from the unit I'd run into earlier. After about five minutes of just lying there after

they passed us by, Quentin stood and offered me his hand. He pulled me up, and I

said, "Thank you so much. That was too close for comfort." He nodded. "Indeed. But

that also tells us we need to hurry, for I came in to free you because it my shift to

guard, and they're currently on their way to replace me. It'll be a matter of minutes

before they find us both gone and sound the alarm." He explained. I cursed under my

breath. "Alright, let's get going then. Zut, why must the tavern be so far from the

station?" Then we started off in an inaudible sprint, I leading the way considering I

still hadn't told Quentin the address. After a few more minutes of seemingly endless

dashing, we stopped in front of the tavern, which was still glowing with that warm,

loud, obviously still occupied light. I grimaced, though I knew I should have known

that it would not be empty, was it ever? "Alright, I'll go in first. Wait about two

minutes, then come in after me. Less suspicious that way. They'll probably be too

intoxicated to notice anything but the glass in front of them, but we need to be as

cautious as possible. I'll figure out how to get you into the storeroom with me from

there. Got it?" I explained hastily, stepping towards the door. He nodded, but as I

turned to open the door, caught my arm. "Wait Éponine, I need to t—" I cut him off,

too worried for Erik to think of anything else. "Forgive me Quentin, but it will just

have to wait. I need to make sure he's safe." I pleaded. He sighed, but let me go and I

walked inside. " 'Ey look y'all, it's Éponine!" one of the dailies drawled as I walked

towards the counter. The current barmaid, a shrew of a woman named Véronique

looked up, confusion flashing through her eyes. " 'Ponine? But your shift isn't until

this afternoon. What are you doing 'ere?" I smiled, trying to look as innocent as

possible. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd come here." Véronique laughed. "Why in the

world would you choose to come 'ere? This place is the last place I wanna be at _any _

time of day."

"Then why don't you head home? I can take over your shift. I don't mind

being here, and why not make use of my sleepless night?" I offered breezily. Her

eyes widened. "You're sure? You really don't 'ave to…"

"No, please! You look like you could use some extra rest. Go! I'll hold down

the fort here." I told her, shooing her out the door. She beamed at me. "Thanks

'Ponine, I owe you one." I smiled back and nodded to her, then turned to take my

place behind the counter. The second I had settled there, Quentin walked in, looking

more out of place in his neat officer's uniform than a cat in the middle of a group of

mice. I made a mental note to find him some different clothes later, then held back a

laugh as the drunkards glanced his way, gasped, then turned back to their drinks as

fast as they could. I'd bet every one of them had something they'd gotten away with

in opposition to the law, and apparently wanted to keep it that way. He locked eyes

with me, and I instantly said, "Ah! Officer! You're just in time. I believe we were

robbed. I just got here, but the storeroom is in near wreck. Come, I'll show you." And

beckoned him towards me. he nodded, face impressively stern, and followed me into

the back room as all of the men in the tavern watched us, whispering. I couldn't hear

what they were saying, but I knew that our performance had been so believable, it

could be about nothing other than the "robbery" or maybe their own actions that the

police would frown upon. As soon as we were out of earshot, Quentin let a bemused

expression break through his mask of solemnity, and he chuckled. "Mon dieu

Éponine, you even had _me_ going there. You could be a prima donna." I grinned back,

curtsying. "Why thank you Monsieur, but the show's not over yet. Come on, this way."

I led him to the storeroom door, where I stopped to study. "Oh, thank God. No one's

been inside." I sighed in relief, smiling to myself. Quentin's brow furrowed. "How can

you tell?" he asked curiously. With a proud sort of smile, I justified, "It's an old trick I

learned from my gang days. You take a bit of ground grain and spread it evenly in

the crack of the door on the ground, and then if someone has intruded, you know

because it's scattered all about." Then I cracked the door open to prove my point.

His mouth made a silent "o", but before either of us could speak again, I heard a little

voice. "M- Mamán?" Erik whispered. With that I flung the door the rest of the way

open, and rushed into the dark room, feeling a tiny flying force take a steel grip on

my legs. I gently pried him off, sitting down and placing him in my lap. Sobs began to

rack his little body, and I rubbed his back, trying to soothe him. "I—I—I was s—so

frightened, Mamán! I thought—I thought you weren't c—coming back, that a

monster had gotten you! I—I—I thought that my bad Mamán was going to find me,

that she was g—going to strike me more! And it was s—s—so cold Mamán! I wanted

to g—g—go into the light room, but you t—told me to stay here! So I did! But it was

so cold…" he trailed off, nuzzling his head into my shoulder. I wanted to kick myself

for leaving him so long on his own, but for now comforting him was the first priority.

I started to sing, "_Rien ne va__vous faire du mal__, __pas tant que je__suis dans les parages__  
><em>

_Rien ne va__vous faire du mal__, non monsieur, __pas tant que je__suis dans les parages__  
><em>

_Démons__saura vous charmer__avec un sourire__, __pendant un moment,__mais dans le temps_

_rien ne va__vous faire du mal__, non pas __que je serai là_." His tears slowed to a mere

sniffle, and he looked up at me. I held back a gasp when I saw his yellow eyes glowed

in the dark like a cat's. "That is very pretty Mada—I mean, Mamán. Will you teach it

to me?" I smiled warmly back at him. "Of course Erik. As soon as we get out of here,

I'll teach it to you." He scrambled off my lap, jumping up, eyes lit up with excitement.

"Let's go then! Let's go to—" he stopped, staring wide-eyed in fear towards the door.

I looked up in panic, but the n remembered my companion. Erik scurried to hide

behind my skirts, but I patted his head. "It's alright, bien-aimée, he is a friend. He

helped me get away from the monsters." I told him, crouching down to meet his eyes.

I walked towards Quentin, and Erik trailed behind cautiously. When I stopped next

to him, Erik looked up as if searching for reassurance. I nodded at him

encouragingly, and he stepped out from behind me, looking up at this curious new

stranger, brow furrowing when his fleeting eyes fell upon the large policemen's hat.

"You… you saved my mamán from monsters?" he asked tentatively. Quentin

chuckled, crouching down to Erik's height. "Well, some very bad men at least. But

maybe I should introduce myself first. My name is Quentin. What's yours?"

"Erik." Erik replied shyly, looking down at his feet and taking a step back.

Quentin wasn't discouraged by this action, and he smoothly said, "Alright Erik, how

would you like to try on my hat?" Erik looked back up, and he nodded with wide,

inquisitive eyes. Quentin handed it to him, and Erik placed it on his head, giggling as

it slipped down over his eyes. He whipped around to me, and he sniggered, "It is

such a funny hat! Do I look funny Mamán?" I laughed with him, replying, "Quite. But

you also look like an officer. Very official, Erik." The little boy tittered at my

description, puffing up his chest and standing up tall. "I am les braves Monsieur Erik,

layer of the lawr!" Quentin and I laughed heartily, and through my chuckling, I said,

"_Law_ Erik, no 'r' sound." But I knew with his little underdeveloped mouth, "law"

would be a difficult word to pronounce. I took the hat off his head and handed it

back to Quentin, despite Erik's protesting pout. "Don't worry little sir, I'll hand it

back over later." I heard Quentin whisper, and Erik's protruding lip disappeared.

"Alright then, the back exit is over there. Let's get out of here, once and for all." I said,

sweeping Erik up and stumbling towards where I knew the back exit was. "Why

didn't we just use this one to get in? Would have been a lot safer." Quentin asked.

"But not nearly as much fun, my dear officer. Didn't I tell you the show had

not yet ended?"

**Author's Note:**** Happy Thanksgiving! (for all you who are American, though my traffic stats say some visitors are other nationalities! Huzzah!) Well, ComicCartoonFreak13, I bet this was a twist you weren't expecting. Madeline just getting arrested? *****sigh* Don't we all wish it were that easy? (but as 'Ponine put it here, not nearly as much fun. ;) And yes, for all you Quast Javert fans out there, Erik was sort of imitating our favorite Inspector in here. I just couldn't resist. XD **Also, just in case anyone was wondering, the thing 'Ponine sings to Erik is the French translation of "Not While I'm Around" from Sweeney Todd. Such a beautiful song! Thought it would fit in perfect here. ** Well, that's all I really have to say for now. R&R, let me know what you think of all this so far (especially opinions on Quentin, the guy's starting to grow on me, but who knows where this story will take him…)! I've got a few new readers who reviewed as well, so thanks you guys, I (and Erik) really appreciate it! **


	11. Chapter 11

We snuck out the back, and instantly I lead him away from the tavern to a long

alleyway. There I simply reached up and pulled a shirt and tattered jacket from a

clothesline, handing them to him. "Here, put these on. You'll stick out like a sore

thumb if you walk around in your uniform." I instructed. I then turned to Erik,

saying, "And you sir; you look like you haven't changed clothes in years. Dearest,

why aren't you ever wearing a shirt?" I asked, exasperated, though I already knew

what he would respond. He hung his head low. "Vieux, mauvaise mamán wouldn't

give me one." I lifted up his chin to look me in the eyes, and his yellow ones shone

with sadness. "That's alright Erik, it isn't your fault your mother was a—never mind,

that's probably not the best thing to be teaching you. Anyway, I'll find something for

you too." I turned back to the clothesline, catching Quentin mid-change. I felt my

cheeks growing hot as I saw his broad, bare chest, and I quickly averted my eyes,

thanking heaven he hadn't noticed my stare. Quentin had always looked quite well

built and resilient, and his chest was no exception. His muscles bulged proudly, and

he could have been one of the famous statues I'd seen in front of some of Paris's

finer churches; they were so perfectly sculpture-like. My blush grew in fervor as I

shook my head ever so slightly as if to physically disrupt those thoughts, stepping

towards the clothesline and trying to avoid looking at him while he still was half

exposed. I sifted through the garments on the line, trying to find something a child

could wear, when suddenly I felt his arm brushing my shoulder, reaching in front of

me to grab a tiny shirt I hadn't seen hiding behind a large pair of britches. My

heartbeat quickened, but more in unease than from his being so close, but soon he

pulled back as he held out the shirt for me to see. "It's still a bit big, but it will fit him

better than anything else up there." I nodded, taking it from him. "It will have to do

until we are away from here." I quickly beckoned Erik over and knelt down to put it

on him, and once it was all buttoned up, he began to infectiously giggle. "Look

mamán, I have no hands!" he held them up to show me, the sleeve cuffs flapping in

the slight breeze. I laughed gently. "But how are you to play your harp and reed pipe

with no hands, mon petit? Would you like me to fix it?" I asked, and he nodded. I

rolled them up, and he wiggled his pitifully thin fingers as if making sure they still

worked. "Better?" I smiled, and he grinned back. "Alright then, we'd better get going

now that we're all changed." I said, glancing quickly at both of them. Erik reached his

arms up to me, and I picked him up, jerking my head to the side to silently tell

Quentin which way we would be running. He nodded gravely, and I took a deep

breath before sprinting out into the street. We got across in what felt like record

time, thank the Lord, and from there we just continued our mad dash, ducking in

and out of alleys, flying through the shadows, and creeping carefully down empty

streets, until finally the sun began to rise, and I was exhausted, but I knew by the

fashion and almost anxious crowdedness of the buildings that we weren't even out

of Paris yet. I stopped and put my hands on my knees, bending down to catch my

breath. "Come on Éponine, we're nearly there now! I've patrolled this area before,

and it's only a few more miles until we reach the edge of the city." Quentin told me,

putting a hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him, still breathing heavily, trying to

tell him with my bloodshot, fluttering eyes that I didn't think I could go on much

longer. He bit his lip, letting my shoulder go and watching as I sat down on the

cobblestone. Erik looked at me, his saccharine little eyes shining with concern.

"Mamán? Are you alright?" he asked, staring at me wide-eyed. I tiredly smiled back.

"Just fine, bien adore, only tired." He wrapped his arms around my neck and gave me

a quick hug, and with that I felt my determination to lead him to a better life

recharge. I stood up, wavering a bit, but then nodding to Quentin. "Alright, let's keep

going." I was surprised to see him hold out his hand, stopping me from moving

forward. "Not so fast. I don't think you're fit to run anymore." He said, tone earnest.

"No, I really am fi—" he cut me off, staring off behind me.

"No, you're not. Here, just follow my lead." He then walked past me,

quickening to a jog. "Help sir, please help me!" he cried out suddenly, and I saw that

he as rushing towards a nobleman on a horse. The man looked down at him,

something like pity and concern in his eyes. "What is it you so desperately need, my

good sir?" he asked cautiously.

"Please, kind, chivalrous gentleman, my dear little child is gravely ill, and we

have no horse, no way of hurriedly getting him to the doctor!" Quentin pleaded with

such urgency in his voice that _I _nearly believed him. The rich man's eyes widened

and flickered over to Erik. I put on a mock expression of terror, then whispered

through my teeth, "Erik sweetie, start coughing." He looked up at me, confused, but

my mien must've urged him on, because he immediately started coughing into his

little, bony hand. I looked the man in the eyes, letting tears spring easily into my

fatigued eyes, and he immediately got off his horse, handing the reins to Quentin.

"Godspeed to you and your wife, sir. I shall be praying for the wellbeing of your

child." He told him earnestly. Quentin shook his hand frantically, saying, "Bless you

sir, bless you!" before leading the horse over to Erik and I and helping us up

promptly. He placed Erik in front of him, instructed me to hold onto his waist, then

whipped the reins, and the horse jolted to a run, galloping away down the quiet,

morning street. Once we were a ways away from where we'd attained the horse, we

slowed and I said, "You sir, are a true genius. The story poured out so easily, so

emotionally! I practically believed you." He chuckled. "Yes, well, despite this little

trick going against everything I was trained to obey, I've been spending too much

time around a professional con artist _not_ pick up a thing or two." I laughed, secretly

smug that my wayward habits were rubbing off on him. "But I couldn't have finished

him off without you two! Éponine playing the tearful mother, and you Erik, playing

the sick child!" He turned back forward, addressing the boy, but Erik was too busy

looking around and patting the horse to hear.

"I must admit to feeling a bit guilty; we just stole that man's horse and he

seemed so benign." I said, yawning a bit at the end. I was no longer running, no

longer attempting to perk up alertly, and I was abruptly hit with a wave of full on

exhaustion. I hadn't slept since the night before, and had run so much in the past day,

and all through the night as well. The more I thought about it all, the heavier my

eyelids grew, the harder I found it to focus on the sights and sounds around me.

"Éponine," I heard Quentin say, though the sound barely registered.

"Hmm?" I mumbled in reply.

"Rest. You need to replenish your energy. If any danger approaches, I'll wake

you. But we're almost to the edge of the city, and from there we can travel into the

country, and I'm sure we'll come across a little town somewhere out there. But for

now I'll keep riding, we're all safe now, so sleep." He said softly.

"But surely I'll fall if I… fall asleep." I breathed in protest.

"Lean on me." he suggested quietly.

"You really don't mind?" I muttered, though I'd already rested my head on his

back.

"Not at all." He said, and within a moment I was asleep.

**Author's Note: ****Hey everybody! First off, let me apologize for my late update. I had surgery on my hand and could not type for quite a while. Then, in my rush to get an update out for you guys, my chapter turned out short. So yeah, sorry for that too *blushes*. But I do hope you'll enjoy it anyway, and I promise the next one will be longer. R&R, I'm sure Erik will grow bored of riding soon, and will require some new reading material. **


	12. Chapter 12

My eyes fluttered open, and I found myself staring up at a rubicund sky splashed

with the pastels of a coming dawn. I stretched my arms and sat up, and was

immediately greeted with the snort of a horse. I looked around and saw that while I

was asleep, Quentin had found us a safe place to camp, doubled the saddle blanket

as a wrap for Erik, and had taken off his jacket to drape over me. I fingered the

frayed fabric with a smile, for I noticed he now slept deprived of any covering on the

ground, and a chill had crept on in the night. '_Quite chivalrous.'_ I thought to myself,

getting up quietly and swathing the jacket back where it belonged. I looked down at

my two companions, then at my surroundings. We seemed to have veered into some

kind of forest, though I imagine Quentin was intelligent enough not to deviate us too

far from the road. I crept over to our horse, which was watching me with wary, deep

eyes, and patted him once on the neck before opening the saddlebag. The rich

gentleman we'd acquired the horse from had had some very useful items inside it,

but I noticed one thing it lacked was enough food to feed all three of us for more

than a day. Therefore, I decided to go for a quick walk through the forest, searching

out anything edible, for God only knows how long it would be before we came

across a town. I'd never really been outside Paris before, so this was all unknown

territory to me. I left our little campsite, simply praying Quentin and Erik wouldn't

wake before I returned, and began treading through the brush, keeping a sharp

watch for berries, nuts, small animals, anything. The rising sun, in all it's warm light,

began to glitter through the trees, and distant memories began seeping back into my

head. "_In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight…"_ Harmless as they may be, I

knew that they would lead to thoughts of something I'd been desperate to forget for

over twenty years now, so I pinched myself and shoved those reveries to the back of

my mind. I instead focused of the morning nature's beauty, where everything was

bathed in a sort of pink light, and golden rays trickled in from the roof of leaves

keeping watch overhead. It was rather lovely, but I knew I had to focus on the task at

hand, lest we have no food left in a day or so's time. I stopped at nearly every bush I

saw, sifting through the leaves for berries, got down on my hands and knees more

than once when I thought I'd spotted a stray nut, and after a while of coming up with

nothing, I kicked a tree trunk in frustration, sending a sparrow into a fluttering

panic. As soon as it flew off I began trying to find a way up the tree, for it had

abruptly clicked in my mind, _where there are birds, there are nests. _I jumped up and

grabbed a sturdy branch, slowly but surely pulling myself up. Once I was nearly

secure sitting on the branch, I did a quick survey of the tree, especially scouring

where the sparrow had flown from. I located some kind of foreign object, and in my

excitement to reach out to it, lost my balance on the branch. I landed on my back on

the forest floor with a thud I could have sworn shook the tree, and the cusses

stringing from my mouth were practically in sync with the throbbing pain I could

feel on my back. _'That one's gonna leave a bruise."_ I grimaced, glaring back up at the

tree. I knew in my mind that it must be laughing at me, the overgrown shrub. Now, I

know you must be considering me to be mentally unstable, speaking of a tree this

way, but my instinct in the past had made everything a competition, and apparently

I'd never completely grown out of it. I jumped right back up and took another firm

grip on the branch, pulling myself up with more haste than my previous attempt. My

arms trembled in exhaustion and protest, but within seconds I was right back where

I'd left off. This time, being much more conscientious, I began to scoot myself down

the branch to bring myself closer to the nest before reaching for it. I gingerly picked

it up, and my heart dropped when I saw that it was completely empty. I clenched the

fist that wasn't holding the nest, teeth grit, and then threw it at the ground with a

shout of aggravation. I swung myself back down onto the ground, then began

storming back the way I'd come because obviously, I want going to find anything

with my wonderful luck. Why must karma continue to taunt me this way? Sure, I

hadn't been an angel in my first life. But wasn't the pain of losing Marius to my

childhood enemy and then having to live through the pain for twenty years after I'd

supposedly died enough? Why did bad luck _still _persist me? I continued pouting on

about this as I walked, but now that I think about it, it seems like I was more tired

and irritated after losing to a tree that hating the world's cruelties. Finally, I heard a

familiar semblance of a voice up ahead, and I bit my lip, hoping Quentin wasn't

worried. But as I got closer, to my surprise, he sounded _happy._ I was about to start

bubbling with offense that he was happy I was gone, but then I realized that the

things he was saying (which I could now classify to be things like, "Quick! We need

to tend to his wound!" and "Sir, yes sir!") could only be branching out from Erik's

imaginative mind, and I flushed with guilt that I'd been so quick to accuse. A short

while longer I found myself at the edge of the clearing, and I peeked through the

bushes to see Erik pointing at Quentin, who's arm was raised in a salute. "You!

Officer Quentin! Take your bergr—bargee—bagra—" Erik suddenly stuttered before

looking sheepishly up at Quentin.

"Brigade!" Quentin whispered with a wink. Erik's eyes immediately

brightened, blazing like yellow flames in the low light. "Oui! Your bri-g_ade_ and go to

the battle field! England has stolen our… uh… our… oh! Our duchess! Yes, they have

taken our duchess, and we need to rescue her!" he exclaimed, almost bouncing up

and down in excitement.

"But Captain, we have no methods of transportation! Our horses have all

been drugged," Quentin continued with false fear in his voice, glancing over at the

real horse, who was asleep under the tree, "and we shall never catch up to the

kidnappers on foot!" Erik stopped for a moment to think, then smiled slyly. "Oui

Monsieur, all horses but one." Quentin cocked his head, confused, but then Erik

whispered, "Get down on your knees and _you_ could pretend to be a horse!" I

watched in amazement as Quentin patiently got down on his hands and knees and

allowed Erik to clamber onto his back, all without a moment's hesitation or a single

complaint. "Now off men, off to save l'Duchess!" Erik squealed in glee as Quentin

began speed-crawling around the clearing. I realized that I'd been standing there

just watching for too long, and it was time for 'the Duchess' to make her

reappearance. "God bless you good sirs, for you have saved me from the most

malevolent of fates." I sighed dramatically as I stepped into the clearing. Erik's face

lit up in glee when he saw me, and I wondered when that would stop making me

want to cry tears of joy. No one had ever been that ecstatic to see me, and now even

after I had only been gone for a while, he was eager upon my return. "Mamán!" he

exclaimed before jumping off of Quentin's back and scurrying over to me. I smiled at

the word, for though when I mused about it alone, it was absolutely terrifying, the

thought of having a helpless child depending so much upon you, in the moment it

was such a jovial thing. And the fact that he had almost immediately transitioned

from 'Miss Éponine' to 'Mamán'; that he had been fond enough of me to accept that

so quickly, well, that made it all the more special. He leapt into my arms, and I

caught him perfectly as if we'd been practicing the motion for years. "Hello little one,

I see you and Monsieur Quentin have had some fun while I was gone?" I smiled at

him, and he nodded enthusiastically, but then cocked his head. "Where did you go?"

he asked, an inquisitive tone in his voice.

"Off on an adventure." I teased him, patting his masked cheek.

"What kind of adventure?" he pressed on.

"I was… oh! I was looking for a magic bird. This bird lays golden eggs." I told

him, trying to talk seriously as if I was speaking to another adult about business.

"Golden eggs? Gold like Oliver's locket?" he asked me, smiling at the thought

of his book.

"Yes Erik! The very same." I patted him proudly. He beamed, but then got that

curious gleam in his eyes again. "Mamán, what does gold look like?" I laughed, for

his inquiring nature turned everything into a question. I didn't blame him though,

being locked in a minuscule flat his entire life would certainly spark quite a curiosity

in the world once he was actually allowed to be exposed to it. "It is a metal the color

of the morning sun, and though I wish I could show you an example I don't think I

ever will be able to, petite amie." I explained to him with a sad smile.

"Unless you find the magic bird." He corrected me, and his complete naivety

of what I meant made me want to cry.

"Of course Erik. Unless I find the magic bird."

Soon, my tales of golden eggs and magic birds lost his four-year-old interest, and he

wriggled out of my arms and walked back over to Quentin. "Sir! It seems the

Duchess has been rescued!" Quentin said, jumping right back into the game, to Erik's

delight.

"Oui Monsieur! But now her favorite magic bird is missing! It must be the

bandits!" he gasped.

"What are my orders, Captain?" Quentin asked him, saluting once more.

"Hmm…" he pondered, turning to me. "Mamán? May I go off into the trees on

my own?" he pleaded me. I bit my lip, knowing how dangerous the woods could be

to one so young, but also taking into consideration that he seemed so much older

and more intelligent than the average toddler. "Alright, but only for a little while,

and make sure you can hear mine and Quentin's voices at all times." I instructed,

desperately hoping one of my first orders as a mother would not be a huge mistake.

He threw his arms around my legs squealing, "Merci Mamán!" before turning back to

Quentin briefly. "If we bring all of the troops, we will frighten the bird! I must take

on this mission by myself."

"An ingenious idea, sir. Work with haste, Captain Erik." Quentin nodded to

him, and then Erik turned with a giggle and flew into the trees. I watched him go

with an amused smile, and only pried my gaze away when Quentin came to stand

beside me. "I find myself utterly amazed that he is so accepting of you being his

'mother' in such a short time. How did you do it?" he asked me, a sort of awed look

on his face.

"Well, I knew him for several weeks before I freed him, and my theory is that

since he went through so much abuse with his real mother, he is quick to accept any

kind treatment sent his way." I elucidated.

"And exactly how… _bad_ was his mother?" he continued cautiously. I took a

deep breath as I recalled Erik's wound and terrified attitude in the first few weeks,

then replied, "Each day I would return to find new bruises or wounds, and I have

reason to believe she had brandished a blade on him before. He had never left his

flat before I came along, and had no name until I gave him one. No _name_, Quentin. Is

there anything more dehumanizing than a child with no name? At first, in fact, when

I asked him what his name was, he thought it to be 'monster' or 'devil's spawn'

because that's all his mother had ever called him. and yet, he still didn't understand

the hate in those words, he simply said to me, "Miss Éponine? Can I just have one

name? Having so many hurts my head." I hadn't realized that I'd begun to tear up,

but I instantly wiped them away. Quentin looked completely shocked, his mouth

open in a silent 'o'. "That's… that's… completely _vulgar_. Completely appalling! How

could any human do that to _anyone_, much less their own child!" he snarled, anger

blazing in his eyes.

"My thoughts exactly. Now do you see why I had to take him away?" I said,

just as irate as he at the memory.

"More than so. He is such a charming child… how could anyone treat him so?"

he asked, seeming completely mystified at the idea.

"Well it seems she was just too terrified of his f—" I stopped myself, cursing

in my head, but unfortunately I had caught Quentin's attention with my unfinished

sentence. "Too terrified of what?" he inquired. I sighed. No use attempting to weasel

my way out of this conversation now. "Quentin, have you yet found yourself musing

over why Erik wears a mask?" He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened,

then closed, then finally spoke. "Well…I did… at first… find it slightly peculiar, but

after a while I guess I just stopped thinking about it." He admitted

"And I'm glad you don't think much of it. Well you see, Erik has a facial

deformity. It was the reason his mother hated him so, for he looks like a corpse

beneath that mask. I, in my days, have seen many terrible things, and was nearly

immune when I first saw him because compared to the other repulsive things I'd

experiences, this was not the worst, though I could never say that he is a handsome

little boy. Far from it, though his outer looks are the complete opposite from what is

within, and that is really all that matters." I stated, picking at my skirt.

"Ah, that would explain a few things. The poor child, hated because of the way he looks? Oh, woe to the world and its cruelties." Quentin sighed.

"Nearly my thoughts exactly, though yours were much more polished and poetic." I teased him, trying to veer away from the subject before it turned to actions.

"Not quite. I am far from a poet, Éponine." He chuckled.

"And that is also, to my knowledge, the reason his eyes blaze in the dark." I

added quickly, to spare the subject from reappearing later.

"Yes, that I did find rather curious indeed. They glow like a cat's, and are such

an uncanny color." He remarked. After that, it was quiet for a few minutes, and I

didn't know if he felt the same, but I found the silence to be rather uncomfortable.

"So, I see you've taught Erik a thing or two about the military?" I grinned at him,

referring back to their affable game. He laughed heartily, replying, "Yes, and he has

taken quite a liking to it! He seems to absolutely relish the excitement, and he has

not yet ceased to amaze me with his abilities. He looks no age past than six, though

he acts much older, learns so quickly." He commented, shaking his head in awe.

"I believe he's four, actually." I practically sniffed with a certain level of pride.

Quentin's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Four? Yet he explains to me the

plotline of Oliver Twist, picks up on information faster than you can dictate it, and is

already intelligent enough to formulate and improve upon ideas of his own making?"

he exclaimed, eyebrows arched in shock. I nodded. "Yes. Believe me, you are not the

only one amazed by this. He is just so exceptional… it is like whatever he lacks in

appearance he makes up for in ability and intelligence."

"He is quite the amazing little boy." Quentin agreed.

"And you are quite the amazing playmate! Did I see you getting down on all

fours to please him without a single complaint?" I laughed gently. Was that… a blush

creeping onto his cheeks? "Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint the Captain. And he

has quite the imagination." He chuckled.

"Well thank you, either way. You are so good with him. In my experience, he

isn't very good with strangers, and yet he took a liking to you nearly straight away."

I commended him with a smile. He bowed his head, flashing a grin straight back.

"The pleasure is mine, but I really think it was the hat that sold him." We laughed in

unison at that, but then he continued with, "But really, I'm not the only one that's

good with him. I've watched you two… it's like you've known each other for years

instead of a few weeks. If I hadn't known otherwise, I truly would have thought you

were mother and son." He finished seriously, and I smiled shyly. "Thank you Quentin,

I'm very glad to hear that, actually. The darling child has really grown on me these

past few weeks…"

"And it certainly shows. That reminds me, I wanted to ask you when we were

speaking of Erik's intelligence; how is it you taught him to ultimately read and write

in a few weeks time when you told me you yourself were raised on the streets?

Forgive me, for I mean no offense, I just find it rather fascinating, for the street

dwellers I've come across haven't exactly been…literate." Quentin inquired curiously.

I froze, a deluge of memories all at once breaking down the dam I'd so carefully built

up in my head. _Books… education… student… Marius…_

I closed my eyes, trying to prevent tears from welling up in my eyes. I hadn't thought

about him in so long… made it all the more painful…

"Éponine? Oh dear, I've offended you, haven't I? Forgive me, I truly meant no

harm, they do say curiosity killed the cat." Quentin besought.

"No, it's… alright. It's just that… there are some things… never mind. I'll just

say that an old… an old _friend_ encouraged me to learn." I explained, forcing the

words out of my mouth though they felt more painful than daggers in my side. My

voice must've sent a silent message, because he spoke no more. It was almost worse,

the silence. It left me alone with my newly uncovered thoughts. '_Éponine, you must _

_forget him. He's been gone, married, for twenty years now! He thinks you to be dead if _

_he thinks of you at all. He had just begun to leave your daily thoughts! Keep it that _

_way! Pretend he never existed! You have a child to care for and a new friend by your _

_side.'_ I glanced over at Quentin, who was now packing up some of our belongings.

'_Yes… you have a new life now… forget him…'_

'_But how I loved him…' _I whispered in my head. After a while of that cursed

silence, it was suddenly pierced by a sort of war cry, and I smiled gratefully to

myself. I turned around, but no little boy emerged from the bushes he'd exited from.

My brow furrowed in confusion, and I walked towards them, pushing aside some of

the leaves. Nothing. "Mamáááán!" came a shriek from above me, and I looked up in

time to see Erik jumping off a low branch. I stuck out my arms and he landed in

them rather neatly, but the fall's force knocked me to the ground. I laughed, but Erik

saw what he had done and gasped. "Mamán! Are you alright? I'm sorry!"

"Just fine, cher. It's alright, don't apologize. You were just having fun." I

assured him.

"Oui! What fun it is in the trees! And I found your magic bird mamán!" he

bounced excitedly. My eyebrows shot up, but before I could ask what he meant, he

opened up his left fist, and inside lay a tiny bird, no bigger than my finger. My mouth

dropped open as I looked closer, and saw that it was not just a little bird, but a Bee

Hummingbird. Now, I'd read about these in a nature guide I'd acquired a few years

back, and one thing I remembered from my reading was that these birds were _fast_.

Supposedly, one could not even see it unless it was perched. How had he seen it, let

alone _catch_ it! I looked up at him in awe, but saw that a frightened look had crossed

his face. "Little bird? Magic bird? Mamán, why does he sleep?" he asked me

frantically. I bit my lip, looking down at the bird. I knew with its minuscule bone

structure and weak body, it could not have possibly survived such a long period of

time in a little boy's fist as he leaped through the forest and climbed the trees, but I

knew he'd be horrified if he found this out. "Oh! I forgot to tell you Erik, these birds

are selfish animals who don't want to share their magic, so if anyone catches them

they go to sleep to try to protect it." I said quickly. His face fell. "Oh. I wanted to see

the golden eggs."

"Sorry cher. Here, give him to me." I instructed, holding out my hand. He

placed the carcass delicately in my hand, and then clambered off my lap. Quentin

came over and held out his hand, and pulled me up off the ground when I took it.

"Erik, how did you know this was my magic bird?" I asked, walking over to where

he'd sat down next to the horse. What I really wanted to say was, "How did you even

find the thing?" but I figured it was best to keep this all a part of the game. His face

brightened again, and he replied, "Oh! That was easy. Its colors mamán, its colors! In

your books, birds are always brown or black or gray. But this one was red, and

purple, and brown!"

"And how did you catch it, little one?" I pressed on.

"That was hard. It flew right past my nose while I was playing, and when I

chased it, it always darted away from me. It took a long time, and I had to chase it up

and down a lot of trees, but then I sat in a bush for a long time, and it didn't fly away

from the branch it was on. Then I snuck up on it from behind and EEEYA! Caught it!"

he cried out proudly, clapping his hands together to show me just how he had

snagged the little thing. I nodded at him, though my mouth was still agape in shock.

"And… you were climbing those trees all on your own?" I asked him. He

nodded. "Was I not supposed to?" he asked cautiously.

"Just ask me first next time, alright?" I replied calmly. He nodded with a

sheepish smile. Quentin cleared his throat then, saying, "Well, the sun's up, so we

should probably get going."

"Right then, come along Erik." I beckoned the boy, standing up.

"We get to ride the horse again!" he asked in glee. I nodded with a smile, and

he ran over to the animal, giggling all the way. Quentin came up to me, whispering,

"What kind of bird was it?"

"Bee Hummingbird." I replied dazedly. His eyes widened slightly, but he

simply said, "I can't say I'm completely surprised. His agility was another thing he's

very advanced in. His display in our little game before… he could be a circus

performer for God's sake!" I laughed, and began to follow Erik to the horse, but

Quentin caught me by the arm and stopped me. "Look, Éponine, I'm sorry about

before. If I offended you in any way, just please know I truly didn't—" I cut him off

saying, "Quentin, it's fine. It actually wasn't you in any way."

"Are you sure? You seemed rather tense afterward—"

"Yes, I'm certain. Don't worry about it, I actually don't believe I've properly

thanked you for all you've done for Erik and I. You ran a big risk, freeing us, and I'll

be eternally grateful for all your help." I told him, taking his hand and squeezing it.

"No trouble at all. It warms my heart knowing I've helped such a special child

escape abuse he doesn't deserve, not to mention the fact that I now get to spend

more time with you." He replied casually.

"And what do you mean by that, Monsieur?" I teased.

"Simply that this has been one of the most riveting experiences I've ever had

in my life, and you are one of the most beguiling people." He winked with a laugh,

and I chuckled to hide the flush I'm sure was rising to my cheeks.

"Come _on_ everybody!" Erik shouted impatiently from where he now sat

bouncing on the horse's back.

"It seems we've kept the Captain waiting too long. Let's get going." I laughed.

**Author's Note:**** Hey! Here's the long chapter I promised! Well, a few things now. First off, poor Eponine; she's still experiencing the pains of a man we call Marius, but it seems having Erik and Quentin to keep her busy is helping her through it, bit by bit. Secondly, I'm sorry that I've made this chapter nearly **_**revolving**_** around Ep and Quen, but I am seriously about the fluffiest writer you'll ever come across, and therefore almost never miss a chance to write that way. (But I hope you're enjoying them so far, you'll just have to keep reading to see what this chica has planned for them… ;D ) Lastly, I hope you've noticed that Erik has begun to display even more of his advanced abilities. You try catching a Bee Hummingbird, 'cause darlin', it ain't easy. Also, in case you were wondering what Quentin meant when he said, "he could be a circus performer!" Let's just say that their little war game had Quentin often glancing up in the trees to see if a certain little Captain was hanging upside down, balancing, or gracefully jumping acrobatically from the branches. XD Anyway, R&R, I'm sure you know by now how much Erik appreciates them! **


	13. Chapter 13

"Whoa, Cesar, whoa!" Erik exclaimed, tugging on the horse's reins.

"Careful chéri, be gentle." I reminded him.

"Cesar, Erik?" Quentin inquired.

"Yes, like the Rome leader!" he explained. I turned around, mouthing, '_Did you _

_teach him?'_ but he shook his head, wide-eyed. "Where did you learn that, dear?" I

asked.

"I looked in one of mauvaise mère's books." He replied simply. I shook my

head, but, as usual, wasn't exactly surprised. We stopped on the side of the road, and

Quentin got down and helped Erik and I off the horse. Erik protested with a silent

pout, but he was set on the ground next to 'his Cesar' anyway. "We should be

arriving at our destination in a matter of hours." Quentin stated, turning to me.

"And where exactly is this destination of yours?" I inquired.

"A little town by the name of Montreuil, Pas-de-Calais. I used to spend some

summers there as a boy, and remember thinking it was the most enchanting place in

the world. Perhaps Erik will deliberate it to be the same." He explained, looking

down at the toddler, who was now gently patting the horse's chestnut leg. "Bonne

Cesar, joli cheval." He was softly whispering.

"That was thoughtful of you." I commented, glancing back up at Quentin.

"It's the only place I could think of." He answered honestly. I knelt down next

to Erik. "We're almost there, dearest. We're almost to a place where we can stay for

a while. But for now, Cesar needs a rest." I explained to him. He looked at me, gold

eyes sparkling, nodding enthusiastically. "Alright mamán, I think Cesar does need a

nap. May I feed him first though, please please, pleease?" I nodded at him, grinning.

"Of course little one, I think he'll appreciate that." His eyes lit up and he whipped

around to face the horse again, bouncing up and down excitedly as he reached for

the saddlebag. Luckily for us, when we'd taken the horse, his original owner had

kept extra horse-feed in the saddlebag, and we hadn't had to share the little we'd

had. I lifted him so that his reedy hand could stuff itself into the bag and pull out a

handful of oats. I then balanced him on my hip and walked to the front of the

massive animal. Cesar eyed us curiously, his dark brown glittering as he sized us up

cautiously. When his wise, sage-like eyes fell upon the oats, however, and all signs of

anxiety evaporated. He pushed his nose towards us, and Erik gasped in delight

before eagerly sticking out his hand. The horse gobbled up the food, making Erik

laugh in glee. I grabbed his wrist before it could shake and startle the horse, earning

me a questioning look. "If you accidentally move, you'll scare him." I explained. He

nodded in understanding, still smiling at the gentle giant before him. When the

horse had eaten his fill and lost interest in the tiny human blinking expectantly at

him, I put Erik back down and watched as he wiped his hand on his pants. "It tickles

mamán!" he giggled infectiously.

"Yes cher, he was giving you kisses." I told him, laughing in unison.

"Does he love me too then?" Erik asked me.

"Of course. You're his best friend!" I told him enthusiastically. He beamed,

then began patting Cesar all over again. I was secretly grateful that the horse didn't

seem to mind his being there much, or was at least temperate and patient enough to

have a little boy constantly stroking him, because I knew a horse's kick was a

dangerous thing, especially to one as tiny and frail as he. I shuddered at the thought,

then reached into the second pocket of the saddlebag and pulled out the loaf of

bread I'd hurriedly picked up from my flat while escaping and Quentin's canteen of

water. I shook the refectory next to my ear, and bit my lip when there was barely a

slosh. "We'd better hope that a few hours is all we have left, because we're running

dangerously low on water." I reported.

"Well, let's give the last of the water to Cesar, since with him we'll be in the

town within a few hours, but if he falls, it will take a day or two more." He suggested

strategically.

"Ah. Good plan." I said, walking back over to Cesar's head and trying to figure

out a good way to let him guzzle the remainder of our water.

"Monsieur Quentin?" Erik said, all of a sudden whirling around to stare at the former officer.

"Yes, Erik?" he replied, crouching down to look the boy in the eyes.

"Can we play another war game?"

Quentin laughed, then looked at me, silently asking for my approval. "Don't look at

me, you're the one who actually knows where we're going." I teased.

"Well, in that case, of course, young sir! We still have some time to kill!"

Quentin told the child. Erik beamed and clapped his hands together. "Tell me more

about armies, and then we shall play it!" he commanded.

"I don't know what else there is to tell! I've explained all about artillery, the

different divisions, and historic strategies!"

"And Monsieur Napolean!" Erik added, giggling. My eyebrows shot up. "What

did you tell him about Napolean?" I asked Quentin critically.

"He told me that he was only as tall as me and was an 'inflamus' emperor. I'm

as tall as an emperor was, mamán!" the boy exclaimed, throwing his dangerously

skinny arms into the air. I laughed heartily, both at Quentin's clever contempt and at

Erik's obliviously innocent reaction to it. "So you are Erik. And I'm sure you're even

more clever." I told him, patting his head.

"Oui mamán, I am the Captain!" he bellowed in reply.

"Erik, I've just thought of something I haven't yet told you of the military!"

Quentin suddenly explained. Erik instantly flew over to stand right below the tall

Man, peering up at him eagerly. "What is it?" he asked.

"The navy." Quentin grinned. Erik looked at him, confused, and then he

continued, "It's like the army, but on the water."

"How can there be an army on the water?" Erik asked, obviously dubious.

"With boats. Strong, metal boats with cannons in the sides!" Quentin said,

waving his hands out in rapid, flowing motions. Erik turned back to me. "Mamán, are

the boats the water carriages?" he asked me as he wrinkled his brow, attempting to

remember.

"Yes, Erik. Very good. These navy boats are special though, so listen close to

Quentin now." I instructed him. He nodded keenly, then I watched in wonder as

Quentin lifted the boy up to sit on his knee, and they settled in to discuss serious

matters of their newest game topic. I listened for a few minutes as they discussed

fleets, cannons, and how 'heavy metal' could possibly float, but then I turned to the

saddlebag and pulled out the most worn book I had with me, '_The Basics of Anatomy'_.

I walked around to the other side of the horse, then sat down in the grass, cracking

open the tattered volume. Of course the first place I looked was the front cover, at

_his_ note. I ran my fingers over the stiff paper, reiterating the motion I've preformed

hundreds of times before. Seeing his handwriting, written with the very ink that had

been in the very pen he'd held so many years before, made me wince every time.

And yet I constantly submitted myself to this agony, because this note was all I had

left of him. No matter how much I denied it, no matter how much I tried to tell

myself otherwise, I always ended up in this same pathetic position, curled up, trying

to remain close to a happily married man. I flipped into the book, forcing myself to

stare at the page, but unable to focus on anything other than my dim memories of

Marius. Abruptly, after several minutes of trying to read the words I'd devotedly

read many times before, but always coming back to my unbearably unwelcome

memories, I suddenly realized that I had not ever, not even in my days of loving him

in my first life, wanted _anything _as much as I wanted to forget him. He was now

nothing but an apparition, a figure in the past, but he'd been such an important

figure that I just couldn't let him go. And all I wanted now, all I'd wanted ever since

the day he told me of his love for my childhood enemy, was to move on with my life

as he'd done so easily with his. Why couldn't I? I said a silent prayer of thanks to God

for sending Erik into my life, for I'd been so worried, excited, and happy with him

that I'd go for days at a time without thinking of Marius. But I'd never forget him

completely. He'd always be there in the back of my mind. I could only hope that now,

being an official mother instead of just a secret caretaker, it would be enough. And

'enough' was all I wanted. Erik, my adopted son, the bright little bundle of energy

who was just too loveable to ignore in any way when he was around, was all I

needed now. I made a vow right then that I would dedicate my whole life, time,

energy, and thoughts to this child who now solely depended on me, and whatever I

did, I would think of him first. Marius would be nothing but a blade of grass in my

life compared to the little boy, the sun, my son.

My thoughts of revelation and devotion were suddenly interrupted when the book

in my hand was whisked away. My head snapped up instinctively, and I saw Erik

bouncing back over and held it up to Quentin. "Monsieur Quentin, what does this

say? It is a very big word!" he inquired.

"Erik, give that back to mamán." I said calmly, a little anxious over his rapid

movements with the fragile, worn binding. But he hadn't seemed to have heard me.

"That says anatomy." Quentin glanced up from checking Cesar's hooves, missing

Erik's snatching of the book.

"Erik, you need to ask before you take something from someone." I chastised

him, the tiniest twinge of irritation twitching to life at his ignoring me. Again, I

received no reply. "And what is an-nam-no-nee?" he asked, fumbling with this

exciting new word.

"Erik—" I said, more firmly this time, but I was cut off by Quentin's logical

response.

"Anatomy is the study of the body."

"Body?"

"Bones, blood, organs, muscle structure?"

"What are—"

"Both of you, be quiet! Erik, give that back to me this instant!" I snapped, abruptly

breaking from the maddening interruptions. Both of them turned to face me, and

Erik had certainly heard me that time. He turned to face me, and the expression of

utter shock, hurt, despair, and even terror in his eyes instantly made me wish with a

pang of regret that I could take back my outburst right then and there. He gasped,

and after a moment, his eyes began to glitter with stunned, frightened tears. "Mon

Dieu Erik, I'm so sor—" my frantic apology was cut off by a shuddering sob. Erik

covered his masked face with his hands and scrambled away from me. "Th—th—

that's the voice! That's the angry voice! Autre m—m—mamán used that voice when

she w—w—was upset with me! and then she'd s—strike me! P—p—please mamán,

don't hit me! I'm sorry!" he wailed, curling up so that his scrawny knees tucked into

his face and his arms covered his head. I wanted to slap myself. How could I use such

a harsh tone with him while his memories of his tormenting past were so fresh in

his mind? I looked to Quentin, tearfully panicked, but he looked just as shocked and

anxious as I. He waved me forward to the cowering child with a shrug, and I

approached him cautiously. I walked lightly, but he heard me coming anyway and

looked up with a terrified shriek. "No, no, no!" he pleaded wretchedly. I didn't eve

attempt to speak, for I knew my words would hold no consolation until he was

calmed down. I simply crouched down wordlessly beside him and began stroking

his back; back and forth, back and forth. I noticed that he tensed when I first laid my

hand on him, but after a few moments relaxed. I sat there until his gasping cries

slowed, and bit by bit, little by little, he peeked out his face to look at me. "Wh—why

did you shout, mamán? I thought… I thought…" he stuttered, wincing slightly.

"I'm so sorry, ma petite. Can you ever forgive me? Mamán was just a little

cross that her book had been taken away." I told him gently.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I just wanted to learn the new word." Erik replied sadly.

"It's quite alright, I'm sorry for losing my temper. I shouldn't have yelled." I

replied, tilting his withered chin up.

"I was scared… I thought…" he repeated in tones barely above a whisper.

"Erik, do you remember my promise?" I asked him seriously.

"The one about me having to run away? I didn't like it when you said that,

mamán. It also scared me." he said, eyes widening. 

"No, not that one. I seem to recall making you a solemn vow that if I became

your mother, I would never, _ever _strike you. And I remember that promise, and I will

always keep that promise." I told him.

"Really?" he murmured, staring up at me with the eyes of a pup; deep, wide,

and completely innocent.

"Really."

What he did next I keep stored away in my memories for the darkest and dreariest

of times. He smiled shyly, sat up, and kissed my cheek. Then, regaining his self-

consciousness, he sprang up and ran away with a silly grin, attempting to hide

behind Cesar's legs and peek out at me. I put my hand on my cheek in gleeful

wonder. '_He accepts me so easily…' _I was too pleasantly surprised to hear

Quentin come up behind me, and jumped a bit, snapping out of my shocked state,

when he said, "That was unbelievably well done."

"It isn't me you should be praising." I replied, astounded.

**Author's Note: ****First off, let me apologize for my abandoning you for TWO WEEKS! *****breaks down sobbin****g* I do hope you'll forgive me! I've had so much going on, from break to exams, holidays to hectic happenings, computer malfunctions to writer's block. It's been crazy, but I vow the next chapter to be longer and back on track! Now, let's discuss the story instead of my forlorn dispositions. XD First off, if these last few chapters have been too slow for you, just PLEASE don't abandon me now, their lazy travelling days will be over in the next chapter, and then the REAL fun begins. Secondly, uh oh, there's some of the old Eponine shining through her newly acquired maturity! A little flash of short irritability! And at Erik! I cannot even tell you how much I wanted to huggle him as I was writing this, both while he was cowering and after they made up. But, it seems all is forgiven, and now Erik's bestowed our dear 'Ponine with a kiss on the cheek, a big step for their tiny family. Awwww I want a kiss from baby Erik, don't you! X) Perhaps those who review this chapter will be pleasantly surprised with a little virtual peck! R&R, 3 you all! **


	14. Chapter 14

We arrived in the little town Quentin had spoken, Montreuil, within the next few

hours. It was a pretty little place by the sea, and one of the first things we pointed

out to Erik upon arriving was a boat. "See, Erik? That's a boat!" I explained, pointing

to it. The boy's brow furrowed. "It is? That is what the navy rides in?" he asked,

sounded greatly displeased. Quentin laughed. "No Erik, that is just a boat for fishing.

The Navy uses boats the size of buildings."

"Really?" Erik asked, eyes bugging out, amazed.

"Really." Quentin grinned.

"And what is fishing, Quentin?"

"It's… well… I'll take you fishing one of these days, Erik. Then you'll see."

Quentin promised, unable to find a way to explain fishing to a boy who'd lived in

Paris his entire life. I nodded approvingly at him, and we urged Cesar on again,

entering the town. We came upon a tavern, and Quentin tied Cesar up before I

picked Erik up and we entered. Quentin approached the bartender, and I whispered

to Erik, "We may need you to act sick again, alright cher?"

"Ok, mamán. I'm very good at acting sick." He whispered back.

"Excuse me, good sir. My family and I have just finished a long, tiring journey,

and are looking for a place to stay. Do you know of a nearby inn?" I heard Quentin

ask. The eyes of all those in the tavern were on us… or more specifically Erik and his

mask, now, but I remained expressionless, knowing from my past that to show

anxiousness draws suspicion.

"Yes, Monsieur. There's one right down the street." The bartender replied,

then gave Quentin the address. He thanked him, then we exited the tavern. "I feel

strange… being in a place where I don't have to worry about suspicion." I told him as

he helped me back up onto the horse.

"A good or bad strange?" He asked me, smiling.

"I don't really know yet." I laughed in reply. But then I grew serious again,

saying, "We best be reserving a room, then going out to refurbish our supplies."

"I couldn't agree more. Here, this is it on the left" Quentin replied, then

pointed out the inn. We tied Cesar up once more, then entered the building, walking

right up to the woman who sat at the wooden desk before us. "Excuse me Madame,

we'd like to rent out a room." Quentin said. The woman didn't even look up. "70

francs per night, and 400 for a week, all paid in advance." She said, tone bored.

"70 francs? That's highway robbery!" Quentin exclaimed, smacking his hand

down onto the table. It didn't even rattle her. "Well, it's the best deal around 'ere.

Take it or leave it." She said simply, continuing to scribble in her book of earnings. I

instantly knew the game at hand, and grabbed Quentins's arm, pulling him back

towards the door. Before he could ask what I was doing, I said, "How long are we

planning to stay here in Montreuil?" I hissed.

"I was thinking quite a while, why?" he replied, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yes, mamán, we must stay here a long time! I want to find out what fishing

is!" Erik added, and I jumped a bit at the sound of his voice. Though I'd bee holding

him the entire time, I'd nearly forgotten he was there, he'd been so quiet. I hushed

him, then continued, "Are you sure? There's no way we could leave here soon, or at

least find a place to stay where pay is not required?"

"Well for that, we'd have to buy a house, Éponine. Is that really what we're

hoping to do here?" he murmured back.

"Well no, of course not. I just mean; is there a way we could stay here for a

few days, then go find a barn or run down building to sleep in?" I explained, voice on

the edge of exasperation as I tried to convey what I meant to him.

"Oh. That makes sense. Well yes, I suppose we could do that, but what's the

point? Why lose so much money if we're just going to sleep in a barn in a few days'

time?" he inquired.

"Well, there are several reasons, most of which I cannot explain right now,

lest this woman get suspicious. But one is that first we'll need to find a barn and

familiarize ourselves with the town, not to mention it'll look better to the

shopkeepers if we're coming from an inn instead of an abandoned building." I

replied quickly, frequently glancing back to the woman behind the desk, who was

still too absorbed in her income records to notice that they were whispering.

That's true… but still, how are we to afford this without spending every

penny that we have?" Quentin questioned. I took his shoulders in my hands, shaking

them slightly. "Just trust me, alright? I've dealt with people like this my entire life."

Then I headed back over to the woman at the desk, saying casually, "We'll pay 500."

Quentin's eyes widened beside me, and the woman's head snapped up. I smirked.

'_Well, that got her attention._'

"F-five hundred, Madame?" the innkeeper stammered, her wide eyes

reflecting the same hungry greed I'd seen in my parents growing up in their inn.

"Yes, Madame. Five hundred. That is to say, when we are through lodging

here. No advanced payments." I said smoothly, whipping out the stipulation. The

woman's eyes darted back and forth nervously, obviously trying to decide what to

do. Finally she said, "Give me a moment to talk to my 'usband, alright? Don't go

anywhere, I'll be right back!" before scurrying out of the room. The second she was

out of earshot, Quentin whipped around to face me. "Are you _crazy_, Éponine? Five

hundred francs?" he exclaimed.

"Shh! Stop your shouting! I know what I'm doing!" I said through clenched

teeth.

"What you're doing is promising more money than we can afford to a woman

who seems likely to try to cheat us already!" he hissed in disbelief.

"Quentin, you're going to have to trust me right now. I'll explain everything

else to you later!" I whispered back to him irritably.

"Please… don't yell." Erik suddenly whimpered, curling up closer against me.

We both looked down at him guiltily. "We're sorry Erik. Everything's going to be just

fine." I soothed, looking up at Quentin at 'just fine' he huffed in exasperation, but

said no more. That's when the woman returned with her husband, and the voracious

grins on their faces reminded me so of my parents that I had to look away.

"So, I 'ear you want to pay at the end of the week, but with a 'undred extra

francs for the inconvenience?" the man smiled warmly, though a hidden

malevolence lurked in his gaze. It was my father staring back at me, or, his

expression, at least. And I knew exactly what would keep him pleased, exactly what

to do. It's how I'd kept myself in his gang and fed with what he managed to steal,

how I kept myself in the family for the sole purpose of survival. Not love. No, never

love.

"That is correct, Monsieur. And that is the _only_ correct way. Anything else,

and we find lodgings elsewhere." I said coolly.

"In that case, we'd be 'appy to oblige. Except for one minor detail…" the man

bowed with a mock-polite smile before striking us with a catch of his own.

"Which is…" I trailed off cautiously, raising an eyebrow.

"An extra twenty in advance for the child being 'andicapped." The man

demanded, icy gaze turning on Erik, who hid his face in my dress and whimpered.

"But he's not handicapped. He was badly burned."

"The offer is as stands."

"Make it ten in advance and we have a deal."

"I will go no lower than fifteen."

"Then I'm sure other inns would be happy to accommodate us without

discriminating against my child!" I snapped, glaring daggers at them. They were

silent for a moment, but then finally exhaled and said, "Fine. Ten it is then. But you

better 'ave it on you as we speak, Madame."

"Indeed I do." I replied calmly, reaching into my sack and pulling out the

safebox with all of my earnings in it. I took out the ten francs and handed it to them,

then watched as the woman walked back over to her book, flipping it around to face

us. "Sign your names 'ere, please."

Quentin reached forward to sign but I stopped him with the tiniest motion of my

hand. I picked up the pen and signed, "_Phillipa Thernadi__ér". _My mother's name.

Then I mouthed to him as quick as a wisp, "_Jules". _To my relief, he wasted not a

second more and wrote exactly as what asked. My parents were most likely long

gone by now, but if they were somehow alive, they were old and far away. They'd

lead enough of a false trail, considering how much they moved around. The

treacherous couple seemed satisfied now that our "names" were on their binding

contract, and the man said, "Glad we were able to work this li'l mishap out. Now,

let's get you shown to your room." Then he turned towards the direction of the

doorway on the far end of the room and shouted, "Rupert! Corben! Get your arses in

'ere!"

In scuttled two young boys; one a young teenager, the other only a few years older

than Erik, who picked up our bags without making eye contact with anyone and

turned to the woman. "Bring these guests to their rooms, then return immediately to

yours." She barked, and the older boy gave a small nod before motioning to us to

follow and exiting back the way they had come. But I could barely walk. First the

stingy couple reminding me of my parents… and now, these two boys of a young

Cosette. Why did the universe hate me so much? Why was it making me repeat

everything; even things in a past life? What had I ever done that was really _that_ bad?

The boys were dressed in clothes that didn't fit them, and were dirty, skinny little

things. I had a hard time pinpointing their ages because of this, though my

deductions from first glance remained the same. But all I could see as I followed

them were the gruesome memories of my faded, distant childhood; my laughing at

Cosette's beatings, my pulling Cosette's hair, my plotting ways to get her into the

most trouble possible…

'_Cosette, now I remember! Cosette… how can it be? We were children together… look _

_what's become of me!'_

My old thoughts and musing rushed through my head, remembering the time when

I'd said them. Right after I'd found out who it was _he_ was in love with…

Cosette.

"Phillipa, dear? Are you alright?" Quentin's voice suddenly broke through my train

of thought; name fake but concern true.

"Uh… yes! Just fine, Jules. A little lost in thought, is all!" I chirped back to him,

but I didn't think he looked at all convinced. Soon we arrived at our room, and the

littler boy opened the door, standing aside as we stepped inside. The older boy put

our bags down on a table, then turned to the door to go. "Wait, just a minute!" I

called, catching his arm. I noticed his tensing as I did so, but then I pressed two

francs into his hand. "Here. Go off to the baker and get yourself and your brother a

nice treat." I told him, smiling. The boy's eyes widened, but he nodded vigorously

before turning and leaving the room, showing the money to his brother. I closed the

door behind them and turned to se Quentin, who was looking at me skeptically.

"Alright, would you care to explain to me what you were doing out there?" he

exclaimed, throwing his arms out in front of him. I bit back a laugh at his bewildered

frustration. By now he should know to trust me when it comes to all things illegal.

"Calm yourself please. Here's the things; we aren't actually going to pay!" I

whispered in a caustic cheeriness, putting Erik down so he could explore the room

as we talked. Quentin was taken aback. "Wh—what?"

"We're going to sneak out before we have to pay. We'll stay here a few days,

after earing their trust with the ten francs we've already paid, of course, get familiar

with the town, then leave for whatever forgotten place e find, leaving them with no

leads but our names, which are false." I finished, crossing my arms haughtily.

Quentin opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. I smirked

triumphantly, and he abruptly let out a booming laugh. "I should have known you

would have something like this up your sleeve." He managed, looking at me

amusedly.

"I told you that you could trust me with things like this." I chastised him,

though laughter had crept back into my features as well.

"Well, forgive me for losing faith I must ask though; how _did_ you learn to

bargain like that?" he asked curiously.

"Past experiences with a miserly innkeeper. By the time I was eight, I knew

that my father would do just about anything if it meant a few extra francs…" then I

trailed off, realizing what I'd just let slip.

"Innkeeper? I thought you said your father was a part of a street gang?"

Quentin questioned, slight suspicion reflecting on his face.

"He was, but that was… later on. For the first few years of my life I lived in

luxury because my father owned an inn and cheated visitors out of their hard-

earned money. It went bankrupt as soon as people found out, though, and that's

when he found a new way to practice his corrupt behavior; the street gang." I

explained, taking great care not to mention ages or dates at all. Quentin's confused

expression relaxed, and he nodded. "Oh. Well… I'm sorry that… happened." He said

rather awkwardly. I smiled at him, shrugging my shoulders. "It's alright, I don't

remember much of it."

"Mamaaaaan?" a sudden call from Erik rang out, and I looked to see the little

boy swinging from the curtains… five feet off the floor.

"Erik! Come down from there!" I gasped. His face shone with confusion, but

he did as I asked and shimmied his way down, with the grace and agility of a tomcat.

"What?" he asked innocently.

"No more climbing, dear. We are guests here." I told him. he huffed an

agreement, staring forlornly at the curtains. But then he ran up to me with an

expression I now knew to forebode a question. "Mamán?" he began, looking up at

me curiously.

"Mmhm?" I replied, smiling at him.

"If you were Miss Éponine and became my mamán, is Quentin my papa?" he

inquired, pointing up at the former officer. I instantly felt a great heat rising to my

cheeks, and I was surprised to see Quentin looing as shocked and flushed as I.

"well… he's… um…" I stammered, trying to find the correct words as Erik's eyes

implored me silently. And I couldn't even look to Quentin for help, because I knew

he would probably be just as verbally impaired as I, from the color of his cheeks.

"He's… a very good friend. And he's helping us and keeping us safe." I finally

managed.

"Is that what papa's do?" Erik continued.

"Well… yes… but…" I stuttered as the heat grew in fervor. Erik's tiny, naïve

mind did not understand how uncomfortable his questions left me, he was simply

being a child.

"Monsieur Quentin is our best friend." I told him simply after I'd gotten a

decent grip on myself, relieved that I'd been able to manage even that.

"But—" Erik started again, but I cut him off.

"Erik dear, how about you show Quentin what you can play on your

instruments?" I enthused, pointing to our bags. Erik's childish focus immediately

snapped away from his wondering, and he rushed over to the pack. "Oui! Ok,

mamán!"

Quentin turned back to me, the ghosts of his blush still on his cheeks, and he

mouthed, "_He can play?" _to which I replied, "_Yes. And he sings like a little seraph." _

Quentin's head shook in disbelief, and then a single note rang out through the air,

before being immediately followed by a string of others. But… this was not _Alouette. _

This was a jaunty tune I didn't recognize. And it was one so fast-paced that the

toddler's tiny, emaciated fingers were nothing but a blur. Suddenly, a note out of

place pierced the air, followed by a snarled cry by the musician. He began again

instantaneously, got a bit further, then hit another wrong note. At this point he

turned and threw the pipes onto the bed, then sat down on the ground with crossed

arms and a fearsome scowl. I slowly made my way over to him, hoping I was

walking straight, dazed as I was. "Erik?" I asked slowly, and his angry eyes darted up

to me. "What… what song was that, little one?"

"The violin." He replied curtly.

"Pardon?" I inquired, brows knit.

"The violin! Remember, mamán, in the street? I thought the music was so

pretty that I wanted to play it too!" he told me, frown disappearing as he thought of

the instrument. I thought my eyes were going to fall out of my head, wide as they

were. "But… but… when did you have the time to practice this?" I stuttered, mouth

open in shock.

"I didn't."

Those two words were said with such a casual tone, yet my mind went spinning at

the sound of them. "Y—you… that was off of memory?" I breathed.

"Yes! I remembered the tune, it goes la lala lalalalalala lala!" he began, singing

the tune out for me as he clapped to the beat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw

Quentin sit down on the bed, head in his hands. I knew at once we must be thinking

the same exact thing. '_How?'_

After Erik had finished the song, he instantly went and grabbed his reed pipe off the

bed. He sang a note aloud, then played one on his pipes, then played another, then

found the sound that matched his voice and began with the jaunty tune once more.

After about five minutes of playing, the final note sounded, and he threw up his

hands excitedly. "I did it, mamán!" he squealed.

I couldn't answer. I was still trying to wrap my brain around the entire thing. He had

just played an advanced violin melody on a pair of cheap reed pipes without a single

mistake. He had no sheet music, he'd heard the song _once_ more than two days ago,

and had never once attempted the song before just now. Oh yes, and then there was

also the minor detail that he was _four_.

"Mamán?" he repeated, concern creeping into his voice.

"Sorry, cher, I'm just thinking." I assured him.

"Was it good?"

"More than so, Erik."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that mamán doesn't understand how you could learn to play that

when you've never tried it before, completely off of memory."

"I just hear the music in my head!"

His reply so innocently said, '_Well isn't it obvious?'_ but I could only nod, still unable

to grasp the concept of his genius. He took my nod as a supposed understanding,

and he went back to his pipes, playing the song all over again. I went over and sat

next to Quentin, who was still staring at the floor, entire face riddled in shock. "Are

you alright?" I asked.

"I just have… no words. I cannot…"

"Me neither."

"How does he…"

"I have absolutely no idea. He surprises me every day, but this is just…"

"Indescribable."

"Precisely."

Then it was silent for a brief moment, apart from the tiny master's faultless playing.

Then, Quentin spoke again. "Well, there's one thing for certain."

"And what might that be?"

"I'm journeying with a witty con artist and a child prodigy, and I will _never_ be

able to look at life the same way again."

I laughed, because it was all I _could_ do.

**A/N: *****Sighs* Alright, now **_**I **_** have no words. It's been an eternity and a half since I last updated, and all I can say is that I've been super busy; I'm currently in two musicals, not to mention all the schoolwork, and then on top of it all, I got really into a Enjolras fic. If you love Enjolras or just want to see what my crazy mind comes up with, you'll find it here: **

**.net/s/7873477/1/Passion_for_Patria**

**Anyway, I tried to make this a long chapter as an apology, and think I succeeded, so let me know what you think! Erik's finally showing off more of his musical gifts… not to mention making some awkwardness hang in the air between Quentin and 'Ponine! **

**R Erik's been very impatient with me, and I promised him reviews! ;) **


	15. Chapter 15

"I'm going to head into town to replenish our supplies." I announced, taking my

coinpurse and dumping its contents into a bigger bag.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like me to do it?" Quentin questioned, getting up

from the chair he'd retired to.

"Yes, I'm certain. You've been unstinting in your favors for me, it's about time

I began pulling my own weight!" I laughed, winking at him.

"No, I really don't mind…" he began again, but I cut him off and motioned him

back down. "No. you stay here and rest, I'll be back within the hour. Come along,

Erik!" I called to the tiny boy, wanting to get him off Quentin's hands for a while.

"No mamán! I need to make a bed for Frédéric!" he whined, holding up the

masterful doll. I sighed, giving in. "Alright, but you must be very quiet. Let Quentin

have some time to rest, okay?" Erik nodded in a vigorous agreement. "Okay." And

with that, I bid them farewell and left. I went outside and asked one of the locals for

directions before heading down the street they'd pointed, out towards the

marketplace. It was late afternoon, yet the town was bustling with citizens, all

rushing past in a frenzied flurry; busy as worker bees with whatever simple life

tasks God had thrown at them that day. I couldn't help it; as they passed me by my

mind instinctively picked out all of the ideal moments for pick-pocketing; the

Achilles' heel of each passerby's saunter. One man walked with a slight limp on his

left side, making the easiest time to slip the wallet from his pocket in that brief

moment in which he put his weight on his right leg and was closest to me. That

woman held the hand off a small child, the perfect, built-in distraction for snatching

a purse. That man swung his arms as he walked; challenging, but still entirely

possible to rob should you be quick enough to throw your hand into his pocket

between the flesh and blood pendulums. And I'd _always_ been quick enough.

And yet, I refrained.

I was not that girl anymore; the one who picked pockets to please her father and

shamelessly abiding no laws but that of the streets; survive.

I was not the girl who'd followed Marius Pontmercy like a puppy-dog.

The thought sent a pang through my head, yet I forced myself to think his full name.

No, now I was a new woman with some of the same old habits, but only when

absolutely necessary. Yes, some of my traits still remained, but that was one that I'd

just _have_ to let go. And that's when I realized just how frustrated I was with those

words. I despised the reiterating déjà vu of having to tell myself over and over to

forget him. Why couldn't I? It was strange and so ironic it was nearly laughable;

once, all I'd wanted was him. Now, all I wanted was to get _over_ him.

"Uh… Madame? Is there something I can help you with?" a deep voice

inquired, breaking my train of thought. I snapped back to earth, realizing with a

blush that I'd been standing like a mindless fool before a fruit stand for several

minutes straight. "Oh! Um… yes sir. What fruits are fresh today?" I asked, trying to

recover from my embarrassment. He instantly knew that he was about to make a

sale, and didn't say anything about my blank stare. "Well let's see; we've got some

chestnuts freshly harvested, cherries, some pears I personally picked yesterday…

and oh! These apples came in this morning." He listed, pointing to each of the fruits

as he described them. I looked at them hungrily, asking, "How much?"

"For you Madame, only seven sou for three of each." The man winked

amiably. My eyes widened at the generous offer, but my instincts, as usual, were

immediately wary. "That is very generous, Monsieur. But, forgive me, what makes

me any more special than anyone else?" I asked, attempting to make it sound like a

joke.

"Nothing but that weary look in your eyes, Madame. It is the look you see

only in a young mother." He replied, grinning warmly.

"Oh. Well, thank you very much." I replied, caught off guard. Was it really that

obvious that I was tired? I thanked him for the fruits and handed him the money I

owed, then prompted to walking down the street again. Food was not the only

necessity; we'd need a few changes of clothes as well. I quickly located a cloth shop

and ducked inside; my senses immediately being hit with stuffy air, a temperate

warmth, and the smell of muslain, new and old. I looked around at the sample

dresses and walls that stretched ceiling to floor with bolts of cloth, nervously noting

the scarcity of finished products. "Excuse me, Madame," I directed towards the

woman behind the counter, "do you have any complete articles of clothing?"

"Just the dresses, and unfortunately I charge a little extra if you buy them,

seeing as they're samples." The woman replied, shrugging sadly. I bit my lip. We

needed clothes, and sewing was one thing I couldn't do if my life depended on it.

"Are there any places around town that sell finished pieces?" I inquired desperately,

as if she'd tell me and lose a sale.

"Afraid not, dear. Why the long face? Didn't your mother ever teach you how

to sew?" the woman wondered, brow furrowing. I had to bite back my acidic laugh.

As if. "No, I never learned. I've tried in the past, but it always ended with nothing but

blood, tears, and mangled bunches of thread." I told her, smiling weakly. The

shopkeeper clucked her tongue. "Shame, shame, shame! Well, there are still the

samples; it's really not _much_ of a difference price wise."

"No, please Madame. You don't understand; I'm shopping for my husband

and son." I told her, surprising myself with the smoothness with which I dictated my

cover story.

"Oh. Well I suppose that could pose a problem." the woman said, smile

disappearing as she fell deep into thought. After a moment of this silence, she

snapped her fingers, and her smile lit back up as if incited by the action. "I know! I'll

teach you to sew, right here in the shop!" she exclaimed, beaming at me. I forced a

grin back, though in truth was far from content. I hated sewing, didn't want to learn,

and was getting a bit annoyed by this woman's incessant smiling. Didn't her cheeks

get sore?

"Oh! That's um… very kind of you." I managed, trying to think of a polite

excuse out of it. Nothing. Or at least, nothing that provided a complete escape.

"Actually, my husband's expecting me home soon, but perhaps you just show me the

basics of it…" I trailed off, knowing that the seamstress would likely not be appeased

until I had _some_ knowledge of the art of making clothes. I was spot-on correct.

"Wonderful! Oh, but we must hurry then! Don't you move a muscle, I'll be

right back with my things!" she sang, shooting me one last sunny smile before

disappearing into what looked like the door to a storeroom. I did as she asked, not

even thinking of making a run for it. I needed the clothes, so I would just have to grin

and bear it.

She returned within the minute with a basket-full of supplies in her arms. "Here we

are," she chirped cheerfully, "some lovely cotton bolts and a needle and thread."

"Oh Madame, I don't think I can afford all of this." I told her nervously, staring

at the fine items she held.

"Nonsense, you don't have to! A teacher always provides the necessary

supplies for learning." The lady replied, waving her hands dismissively. My

eyebrows rose. Free supplies? Perhaps this wouldn't be as bad as I'd originally

thought. "Thank you again, that's more than generous." I told her, a true smile

forming on my face.

"You're more than welcome. Now, come come! Let me teach you a simple yet

sturdy stitch." She waved me forward, sitting down on a nearby stool. "Now, to

thread your needle, I always find it easier to wet the end of the thread before putting

it in the head." She began, displaying the thread as she worked. She flew through the

procedure, thoroughly explaining each step to sewing it together. She'd stop every

once in a while to let me try whatever it was she'd just displayed, and the change in

hands was evident. What had been neat, tiny, perfect little rows of stitches turned

into a turbulent tornado of string, and what had been tightly bound seams would be

gaping and sagging, sighing miserably at their impeccable, masterful friends. After

about fifty minutes, we managed to get half of a tiny shirt done, and she turned back

to me, handing me more materials. "Alright, just continue on with what I showed

you, and come in tomorrow and I'll put the finishing touches on it." She told me with

a smile.

"Thank you. I cannot promise that it will be in the final stages by then, but I

will certainly try my best." I laughed. She joined in, then continued, "No worries

child, I'll fix it for you tomorrow if needed and start on your husband's order in the

meantime."

I exhaled in relief. "Bless you, Madame…"

"Lewis. Aimee Lewis." She curtsied.

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm… Phillipa."

"Same to you! Now, off you go, back to your family! I'll see you tomorrow!"

she tittered, ushering me off. I bid her goodbye and walked out the front door,

heading back in the direction of the inn. As I was sauntering along, I adjusted the

basket in my hands to balance on my hip, looking over the nearly-finished shirt we'd

started for Erik. '_The child has softened you, 'Ponine. The old me would have hightailed _

_out of that little sewing class the second she stepped out of the room.' _I thought,

chuckling. And now I was chuckling at the thought of being soft!

But, was soft really such a bad thing? Was kind and gentle so wrong?

_No…_ I smiled to myself. _Just different, that's all. _

In my musings, (and in somewhat of a sense of déjà vu, mind you) I didn't realize

what was right in my path, and I tripped over a crater in the road, scattering

everything I was holding all over the ground. I cussed angrily, then began reaching

out for the items I'd been holding. I was abruptly met with another set f hands,

gingerly placing the materials back into the toppled basket. "Are you alright,

Mademoiselle?" the owner of the hands asked me. I looked up to see a young man

standing before me, concern etched into his face as he held out his hand. Good Lord,

when did it become natural law that every time a lady falls a gentleman shalt appear

above to assist her?

"Yes, I'm fine, just a bit clumsy." I smiled sheepishly at him. He chuckled, eyes locked

on mine. "Aren't we all at some points?"

"I suppose so." I replied, taking his hand and standing up. I began to pick up

my reassembled basket, but he stopped me. "Please; allow me." he said smoothly,

shooting me a lopsided smile.

"Oh no, I can—"

"Nonsense, I insist!" he brushed me off, picking up the basket.

"Alright… thank you." I said, though in all honesty I was getting uneasy. I was

so used to cruel people who wanted no more than their own benefit; all of these

kind, benevolent people were frightening me. Real life was not like this. The real

world did not contain such a surplus of selfless beings. The real world's version of

kindness almost always came with a price.

"Where to?" the man asked.

"The local inn, actually. I've just arrived here." I explained, pointing in the

general direction.

"Ah yes! I've been there. Though, I guess that could be expected after living

here half my life." He joked.

"Yes, I suppose that would be rather inevitable." I laughed in reply. We soon

arrived at the place of interest and entered, ignoring the questioning stares I

received from the innkeeper's wife. I realized the strange situation quickly, and

turned to my mysterious assistant, saying, "Well, here we are. Thank you once again

for all of you help, sir." I nodded to him.

"Why don't I assist you in getting these upstairs? With groceries _and_ sewing

supplies, your hands would be more than full." He suggested kindly. The suspicious

side of my mind shot up a red flag, stories I was told in my past flashing through my

mind, but I knew that his intentions, pure or not, would not be ignored. Besides,

Quentin was up in the room, so even if the man before me looked even close to

sinister, nothing could happen then. I nodded, starting towards the stairs. It was

quiet for a moment as we climbed, but then the man suddenly said, "So where is it

you came to our fine town from?"

I tensed, guard up, but managed to lie, "Oh, we're in from Rouen." I thought I saw his

cheerful, almost childish expression falter a bit, but I couldn't be sure. "We?" he

questioned.

"Yes; my son, my husband, and I." I replied casually, stopping at the door to

our room.

"Oh. That's… nice." He responded.

"Philippa? Who are you talking t…" Quentin suddenly appeared, opening the

door, but his smile disappeared when he saw the stranger next to me. he walked

over to stand beside me, saying, "Who is this?"

"Oh. This is… uh…" I stammered, realizing I hadn't asked my strange helper.

"I'm Claude. Your wife fell ad dropped her things in the street, and I offered

my assistance in carrying them." The man, Claude, explained, looking down towards

the floor. I looked up to see Quentin's face darken, and suddenly I felt his arm circle

my waist. I tried to keep my expression neutral, holding back my shock. "And… and

thanks again for that, Monsieur Claude." I said rather dismissively.

"My pleasure, Madame. Good day." the man mumbled in reply, beginning to

turn away.

"Come Philippa dear, let's get back to our _son_." Quentin said, accentuating the

last word a bit louder than necessary. Now that we were facing away from the fast

retreating stranger, and there was no need for a poker face, my brow furrowed. I

ook ahold of his arm and pulled him into the room, closing the door behind us.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing?" I exclaimed, bewildered.

"I should be asking you the same question." He shot back, eyebrows knit

irritably.

"Wh—what?" I stammered, anger boiling up.

"You decide to bring strange men home when we're _trying_ to keep a low

profile? Are you absolutely insane?" he exclaimed.

"He was a kind man on the street who wouldn't take no for an answer!" I

snapped, inconceivably bemused at why he was so irate.

"So you just let him walk you home? Confide in him your location?" he yelled

in accusation.

"What else do you expect me to do? Forgive me, _Monsieur, _but isn't this the

very same thing you did when we first met?" I shouted back at him. My inquiry

struck right where I'd meant it to; he opened his mouth to rebut but found he

couldn't. I snatched the bags from his hands with a glare, stomping towards the

center of the room furiously. Why is it he'd gotten so worked up? Why couldn't he

see that acting so guarded aroused suspicion?

… Why had the second he'd seen me with another man had he begun his acting the

part of a very overprotective husband? As I slammed the contents of the basket onto

the table, I heard a whimper from the window. I paled instantly and looked up to see

Erik staring at me wide-eyed, eyes glittering. Without a word I got up and scooped

him into my arms, and subsequently he buried his face into my shoulder. "I don't

like shouts." He whispered into my shirt.

"I'm sorry, ma petite. I seem to have forgotten how sensitive you—your ears

are." I replied softly, correcting myself. He looked up at me, eyes a flood of emotions.

"Are you angry with Quentin?" he asked, voice rising.

"No." I lied, forcing a smile.

"Then why did you yell?" he pressed, voice quavering slightly. Damn. Sharp

little thing had caught me in the act. "I… well… I…_was _a bit angry with Quentin, but

now I'm not." I replied quickly.

But why? Why were you mad?" he whimpered.

"I… I didn't like how he… didn't say thank you. But now I know that he just

wanted me to be safe." I managed quickly. Quentin obviously took that as the perfect

moment to step in, and did so, saying, "Yes, now that we've had a moment to cool

down, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten so paranoid. I trust you, please know that... I

just... worry for your welfare, being a supposed criminal on the run."

The sincerity of the apologetic explanation surprised me, but I tried not to show it.

Instead I said, "I understand, and thank you." He nodded with a small smile, then I

turned to Erik. "There. All better." I told him, grinning. Erik's face lit up, childish

mind immediately forgetting the last few tense moments. "Hurray!" he cried out as

he quite literally jumped out of my arms. I winced as he hit the ground, though he

landed with the agility of an alley cat. "Mamán! Let me show you Frédéric

's house!" he exclaimed, waving me over to the other, hidden side of the bed.

"House?" I wondered aloud, looking to the freshly forgiven Quentin, silently

praying he'd answer my 'let-s pretend this never happened' gesture. He did, and all

as a giant smile lit up his face. "Yes. Come on, Éponine; you've got to see this." He

said, following Erik's lead. I walked over to where they stood, and as the 'house'

came into view, Erik let forth the sweetest little, "ta-DAH!" you'd ever hear; though I

barely could as I got my first glance at the four-year-old's masterpiece. It truly was a

house; he'd stacked books and other solid items from the surrounding room to form

tiny, masterful rooms, and then taken some of the remaining things from my pack to

make little chairs, tables, beds, and even a little chest, which he displayed to actually

open and close. Overall, it looked like something you'd buy right out of the local

toyshop, just a bit disheveled considering the random things it was made of. I

realized my mouth was hanging open, but I didn't even bother closing it, considering

it would probably just fall right open again. Quentin saw my astounded expression

and smiled, saying, "I know. I couldn't believe it. I sit down with one of your books to

read while I waited, and before long I hear, 'Excuse me, Quentin? Could I see that

book?' and put it down to see… that!" he gestured to the makeshift dollhouse. I'd

begun subconsciously shaking y head, knowing somewhere in my foggy mind that I

should not be as surprised as I was.

"Do you… do you like it, mamán?" Erik asked, practically bouncing in

anticipation as he looked up at me. And with the first sound of his expectant tone, I

was brought back to earth. "Yes. Erik, it's amazing! Where did you learn to make

things like this?" I exclaimed, getting down on my knees so that my smile was level

with him. His eyes shone of confusion. "What do you mean? You can learn houses?"

he inquired.

"Yes you can. And most people have to wait until they're big to learn." I told

him, reaching up and adjusting his grubby mask, which lay slightly askew on his face

after his hard laboring.

"Why do they wait? Houses are easy and much fun!" he enthused, throwing

his bony hands in the air.

"Well… because real houses are bigger, so the things you use to build them

are bigger, and therefore _you _have to be bigger." I smiled at him.

"But I am big! I am big and strong! I am Captain Erik!" he punched a tiny fist

in the air.

"Yes, indeed you are. But you'll have to wait until… until you're big like

Quentin to build a _real_ house." I laughed, pointing to the example. Erik turned back

to his little house then, babbling to himself, "One day, when I am Quentin big, I will

build one of the biggest houses in all of Paris… and I will put billions of violins and

flutes and harps inside!" I chuckled at his adorable ramblings, patting his head.

That's when Quentin leaned in, whispering, "And I also heard him singing as he was

completing this miniature masterpiece; you're right. He has the voice of a tiny angel.

It's absolutely _mesmerizing_. Even though he's so young; it's hauntingly beautiful."

"I know. It amazes me how skilled it the artistic area he is. Voice of an angel,

hands of a craftsman, mind of a scholar…" I breathed, watching him. So incredible…

and yet he was completely human.

With that, I remembered the fruits, and I said, "Erik, are you hungry?" He snapped to

attention immediately, hands flying to his stomach. "Oui!" '_Did I even have to ask?' _I

smiled to myself. "Well then, come here! I have some new foods for you to try." I

watched his eyes expand two sizes more, and he scurried over to the table, standing

on his tiptoes to peer over the edge. "What is it? What is it?" he wondered anxiously.

"They're called chestnuts… cherries… apples… and… pears!" I explained,

naming them as I fished one of each out of the bag. Erik held out his hands eagerly,

and I placed the apple in them. He eyed it for a moment, then his eyes lit up in

understanding. "Oh! I know this! Old mamán used to bring them home sometimes!

But she'd… she'd not… let me eat it." He finished, head hanging low.

"Well you may eat as many as you like now." I told him assuredly, putting my

hand beneath his chin and lifting it up to look at me. He smiled shyly. "Really?"

"Really." I nodded with a smile, gesturing to the fruit. He looked down at it,

barely hesitating before sinking his teeth into it, bursting excitement returning

immediately after being assured. The juice dribbled down his chin, one of the few

places left uncovered by his mask. And after that first bite, it was as if a ravaged

animal had been released. He devoured the apple as if he'd never eat again, finishing

it in no more than four minutes. Then he looking up at me pleadingly, and I bit back

a laugh as I handed him a pear. He consumed it as quickly as the first, and I found I

could hardly pull it away before he ate the core as well. I handed him a chestnut next,

which he began gnawing on, expression darkening when he found nothing edible on

the rough surface. I held out my hand silently, and he crossly placed the little nut in

it. I deshelled it for him, the handed it back, gasping when he swallowing it whole.

He eagerly held out his hands for more, but I hesitated a moment, biting my lip. He

let out a huff when I did so, displeased with the fact that he'd had to wait for the next

delicious morsel, and before I knew it he had swung and climbed with the side of the

table, shoving his hand into the bag and pulling out another cherry. "Erik!" I

chastised him, picking him up and placing him back on the floor as he, to my horror,

popped the cherry, stem and all, into his mouth.

"But you must admit that vault was impressive." Quentin commented

amusedly from the sidelines.

"Don't you encourage him!" I said, turning around and waggling a finger at

him. He held up his hands submissively, chuckling to himself. I turned back to Erik,

who was beaming immensely, clapping his hands. "Délicieux! So, so, _so _good!" he

squealed, running up to me and holding his arms up. I picked him up, balancing him

on my hip. "Perhaps, but Erik; you cannot eat so much at one time."

"My favorite was the cherries! They were sweet and watery and even better

than that other food you gave me… honey!" he continued, obviously not hearing me.

"I'm glad you liked them, but Erik, if you eat too much food at once, you may

not feel good later."

"And the colors! I didn't know that food could be such pretty colors!"

"Erik—"

"But I've never had any foods that taste so—oh. _Oh_…" he finished with a

groan, and that's when the quaking started. I couldn't hold back a hissed swear; this

was exactly what I knew would happen. Eating so much at once when he wasn't

used to such rich foods, not to mention those stems…

It all came back up. He turned out and let out a terrible retch, splattering all of the,

as he'd said, _colorful_ foods back onto the floor. I heard my curse repeated by Quentin,

though when I turned to him apologetically, his eyes were wide and concerned, not

angry. "It's alright," I assured him, "He's just very malnourished and not exactly used

to such beneficial sustenance yet." He let out an exhale of relief, responding, "Oh,

good. Well, not good at all, actually. I can't believe he's sitting here vomiting up

healthful foods because he's never before been fed them." He finished darkly, jaw

tightening. I nodded sadly in reply, then turned back to the trembling child in my

arms. He was sobbing now, unsure of what had just happened to him, and I began

rubbing his back immediately, bringing him over to the bed. I gingerly lowered him

onto the soft mattress, grabbing the extra blanket off the foot of the bed and gently

wiping the excess stomach contents off the corners of his mouth. He continued to

cry, too startled and frightened to stop, and he curled into a ball, wincingly similar to

the only method of defense he had known against his demon of a mother. I sighed

sorrowfully as I watched him, aching to do something more. So, I sat down on the

edge of the bed, taking him into my arms and resting him against my chest. He

curled up against me, tears soaking into my shirt, and I set to smoothing his scarce

amount of hair, whispering, "Shh… it's alright, Erik, honey. Hush now; I know it's

scary, but you're safe. You're okay. Shh… yes… you're safe and just fine." As I

continued attempting to calm him, I looked and saw Quentin bent over the little

boy's watery mess, wiping it up with a rag. I smiled gratefully at him and mouthed,

"_You're a saint." _To which he smirked lightheartedly. Then I turned back to Erik,

patting his back and leaning him forward to wipe the tears from his eyes. When I

found that I couldn't reach them, I looked anxiously to Quentin, who was at that

moment standing up and… gesturing towards the door. I held back an exhale of

relief, nodding eagerly to him. He nodded back and turned towards the exit,

obviously just as anxious to get rid of the odorous cloth as I was to let Erik take his

mask off. As soon as the door had shut behind him, I tentatively pulled it off of the

little boy's face, wiping his wet cheeks with my thumb. "There you are. Better?" I

asked him, smiling softly. He nodded, sniffling, as he turned his wide-eyed gaze on

me. "I thought so." I whispered in response.

"Wh—what happened t—to me?" Erik whimpered, leaning his corpse-like

face closer to me again.

"You had a bit too much to eat." I answered simply, drying his unrealistically

sunken cheeks with the rough, dirty fabric of the mask.

"B—but it… tasted so good! Why… why…"

"Even delicious things can make us sick sometimes."

The toddler turned and looked down at his hands, which he folded and placed in his

lap. "I don't think I like cherries anymore." He said quietly. I laughed softly.

"Nonsense. They are still among the most sweet of fruit, you just cannot eat the stem

along with the berry." I explained.

"Stem?" He questioned curiously.

"Yes, that piece on the top. That's how it grows, but humans are not supposed

to eat it." I told him matter-o-factly.

"Grow?"

I then proceeded to tell Erik all about the process of farming and growing food; in

more simplified terms, of course. With the uncovering of this new knowledge, he

soon forgot about what had happened only minutes before, as he often seemed to.

By the time Quentin returned, he was already off again, blithely building a garden

for Frédéric's not-so-humble abode. The former policeman strode over to me,

watching Erik happily scurry along. "All better, I'm assuming?" he inquired. I nodded.

"Yes. He was just a bit shaken." I said, handing him a pear. He looked at it for a

moment with an amused twinkle in his eyes, then turned back to me. "Are you sure

this is safe?" I shoved him lightly, retorting, "Oh, just eat it already. If you're half as

starving as I am you'll need all you can get." He laughed, then bit into his meal, and

after I saw him thoroughly content, I fished an apple out of the bag. "I'll go out again

tomorrow to get a few more things like cheese and bread, but I figured this was

good enough to tide us over for the time being." I said before taking a bite. It had

been a while since I'd had a nice, fresh apple, having lived in the middle of Paris for

so long, and I could instantly see why Erik had burst into a wild rage. It was juicier

and crunchier than ever, crisp and perfect with the freshness of the country.

"Correction; _I _will be going into town to pick up the other things we need.

You've done enough; it's time I started fulfilling my end of the bargain!" Quentin cut

in, pointing at me good-naturedly.

"Oh no you don't. why cant you see that you've _already _done _more_ than your

end of the bargain, just by dropping everything you had back in Paris and helping us

escape? I still can hardly believe anyone would have the courage to…" I began, but

then I realized that this was not the time for a rambling tangent and stopped.

"Anyway; point it that you helped us so much, I'm more than happy to let you sit

back and relax a bit. Besides; the town seamstress is teaching me how sew; I need to

go back tomorrow." I added, making that my final argument. Quentin shook his head,

smiling. "You are just so stubborn. It would be easier to convince a _rock _to let me

help." He joked.

"Good." I smirked sassily in response. He simply shook his head with a low

chuckle in reply, then went and pulled the half finished shirt out of my newly

acquired basket. "And _what_ is this?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he smiled

teasingly. I went over and snatched it from his grasp, blushing furiously. "Stop it!

That's a shirt I'm making for—ouch! Damn it!" I hissed, pulling my hand away from

the seized fabric and seeing a bright, red, bead of blood forming on my forefinger tip.

"Augh… I forgot that I left the needle stuck in it." I grumbled through grit teeth,

glancing around for something clean to serve as a bandage. Suddenly I felt Quentin's

hand on mine, and turned to find him looking me in the eyes. "Here, let me." he said

gently, stretching my palm out before him. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a

crisp, white handkerchief and swiftly wrapping it around the tiny puncture wound.

After he'd tied it securely, he patted it gently, then slowly pulled his hand away.

"Thank you." I said softly, smiling warmly at him. He mirrored the gesture, silent

gaze remaining locked on me for a little longer than I was comfortable with. I broke

the stare, turning to the window. I was surprised with the complete darkness I was

met with, the only light coming from the streetlights reflecting from below. "Oh my!

What time is it?" I exclaimed, surprised. Quentin whipped out his pocketwatch,

answering, "A little past nine. We should probably be getting a certain little boy to

bed, don't you think?"

"And a certain mother, too. I'm exhausted." I laughed, turning around. And

that's when our newest dilemma hit me; right as my gaze fell upon the single,

solitary bed. "Oh…" I murmured subconsciously to myself, biting my lip in my usual

nervous habit.

"What?" Quentin questioned, hearing my nearly inaudible utterance. I

blushed and turned to Erik, saying, "Come on, cher! Time to sleep!"

"No mamán! I want to keep playing!" he whined, gazing up at me

pleadingly with his burning yellow eyes.

"Sorry, Erik. There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow." I finished,

scooping him up and plopping him into the bed. He sighed, surprisingly sinking into

it. "Oh mamán… it's so _soft_…" he whispered, letting himself fall back into it.

"I know. You see; this is what a real bed feels like you. You will never have to

sleep on the floor again, I promise." I vowed, grimacing at the thought of his past. He

was now lying fully on his back, but as I pulled the extra blanket over him, his tired

eyes snapped back open. "But mamán; where are you going to sleep? You cannot

sleep on the floor!" he exclaimed, eyes reflecting his considerate worry.

"Well…" I began, unsure of what to say.

"Here! Here, mamán!" Erik bounced happily, patting the area next to him. I

giggled in spite of myself. "Alright, Erik. I will sleep next to you." I turned to go get

changed into a clean dress to sleep in, but Erik stopped me once more. "Wait, and

Quentin too, right?"

"Uh…" I started, heat rising to my cheeks.

"It's alright, I can sleep in the chair…" Quentin cut in awkwardly.

"Nonsense! There's _plenty_ of room!" Erik continued cheerily, and I made an

instinctive mental note of his picking up 'nonsense' from the day's speech. But then I

continued chewing my lip, coming back to the matter at hand. The poor, naïve

child… he could not possibly know how embarrassing he was making the situation

once again… but how could I deny him without having to unavoidably explain why?

"Of… of course there is." I forced a smile. Quentin's eyebrows shot up, but I

simply shrugged and shook my head, silently instructing him not to continue his

questioning. He nodded back, though I thought I saw a blush staining his cheeks.

How could I blame him? I'm sure I looked exactly the same. After all of my effort

over the years, I was to have a man in my bed. I nearly laughed at the ironic

innocence of the statement as I stepped into the washroom, slipping out of my

current outfit and slipping into the next. Most women weren't so lucky. Suddenly, I

caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and nearly winced at the sight of the dusty,

pale girl before me, vowing to bathe the following day. I next took hold of the pin in

my hair and pulled it out, letting the russet waves tumble down my shoulders. I

sighed in respite, forgetting how lovely it was to just have my hair loose. It was

constantly kept in a tight, no-nonsense bun, so that it stayed out of my face while I

worked. Some nights I was so tired, I didn't even take the time to let it out. But now I

did, and I brushed through it tenderly, relishing in the soft, gentle touch of it resting

on my shoulders and down my back. As soon as I'd finished readying myself, I exited

the bathroom, reluctantly putting the borrowed brush back on the table. As I looked

back to the other people in the room before me, I blushed as I realized all four eyes

were boring into me. "What?" I asked, looking down at the floor, embarrassed.

"Oh mamán…" Erik breathed, smiling gleefully at me.

"Wow Éponine." Quentin added.

"What?" I exclaimed, more assertively this time, staring directly at Quentin.

He looked down as soon as he caught my curious gaze, then muttered, "Oh. Your…

your hair. It's just… I've never see you with it down. You looked different."

"Oh. Well…I'll take that as a compliment, then." I winked at him. I went and

sat on the edge of the bed, and immediately Erik sat up, scrambling forward and

running his tiny fingers through the freed locks. "Oh mamán… it's so pretty! So long

and soft…" he respired, and I turned to face him. "Thank you, cher. If you'd like, I'll

let you brush it for me in the morning." I told him. His face lit up with a jubilant

smile. "Oh, yes please!"

"Alright. But for now, it's time to rest." I chuckled, gently leaning him back

down. He yawned, stretching out his skinny arms. "Okay. I am… tired." He replied

sleepily. "But wait; will you sing for me?" he requested. I nodded, then began, "_Sur _

_mon cœur__, __Je vous promets de__vous voir à travers__. __Quand la douleur__arrive__, __Je serai _

_juste__là pour tenir__à__. __Avec__des rires et__par la prière__, __Je promets que je__serai là, __  
><em> 

_Toujours à vos côtés__… __A tout moment__de la journée__, __Il n'y a__rien à expliquer__…__Je suis _

_toujours à__vos côtés…__" _And by the time I finished the lullaby, he was fast asleep, a

smile on his barely visible lips. "Huh. Guess I'm the only one without a good singing

voice around here." I heard Quentin tease, an I looked up to see him shirtless,

standing above the bed. The warm light hit his toned muscles perfectly, and they

looked even more defined than when I'd seen them the other night. I looked away,

blushing once more, saying, "Sorry, do you mind?"

"What?" he wondered aloud, confused.

"The uh… shirt?" I suggested, smiling embarrassingly.

"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry. Force of habit." He exclaimed with a blush, grabbing his

tunic off of the chair and putting it on again. I bit back a nervous laugh, then climbed

into the bed, blowing out the remaining candle. I felt him sink into the bed beside

me, and I felt another wave of heated color make its way to my cheeks. What was

wrong with me? Why was I blushing like a ditzy schoolgirl?

"You know Éponine, you didn't have to agree to this." I abruptly heard him

softly say. I turned to face him, ignoring my embarrassment and discomfort. "No, it's

alright, I don't mind. Erik's right; it wouldn't be fair for you to have to sleep in a

chair or on the floor." I told him, turning up my lips in what I hoped was a semblance

of a smile. He returned it, saying, "Well, I appreciate that. Good night."

"Good night."

And soon after that I was deep in sleep, so of course I didn't feel when Quentin

reached over and tucked a stray curl behind my ear, gazing at my latent,

expressionless face all the while.

**Author's Note: ****Hello lovely, marvelous readers! I'm very happy, because it didn't take me as long as it usually did to update this, and this was my longest. Chapter. Yet! Whoo! *dance party* **

**Well, as you can see, they're settling into this town. Now, they won't be staying long, mind you, but for the first time in a while (or, in a lifetime, in Erik's case) they're sleeping in a real bed. And together, might I add… oh, aren't I devious? XD**

**The song 'Ponine sings is the French translation of this stunning song called "Always" by this incredible composer Scott Alan… go look it up. Immediately. You will cry. **

**And, on a more commercial note, I am very lamentable to report that I've only gotten two reviews on my newest Les Mis story, **_**Passion for Patria**_**. I saw that the link didn't work in my last A/N, but I couldn't help being a bit disappointed anyway with the lack of response. Maybe go look on my page for it? Please? **

**As always, you reviews make my (and Erik's!) day, so send 'em in! Much obliged! :D**


	16. Chapter 16

"You've come a long way, my girl! Just look at that; your first finished piece!"

Madame Lewis chirped, gesturing to the shirt she'd just finished off for me. I

couldn't help it; I swelled with pride. I'd just overcome something that had always

given me trouble! And it didn't look _that_ bad… or, not as bad as it could be. "Thank

you, Madame. I owe it all to you." I nodded to her, smiling genuinely.

"No problem at all, it was my pleasure! And here is that larger shirt I

promised you; I do hope your husband finds it to his liking." the woman winked. I

looked over the specialty article she'd made me with a sigh, thinking over my luck in

her feeling so generous. "It's perfect. Thank you, Madame Lewis. I will repay you for

your kindness as soon as I possibly can." I smiled at her, knowing what her next

answer would be in result of my words;

"Nonsense! Seeing that lovely smile of yours is enough for me."

"Much obliged, Madame. Good day to you!" I called to her as I walked out the

door.

As I stepped back onto the bustling street, I looked at the list in my hand; reviewing

the things I had to purchase before returning to my "family". Bread, soap, fruit, fresh

vegetables, and a pair of shoes for Erik, who had none. If anything had been

forgotten, it would be purchased last-minute in the week right before we made our

illicit flight. I went around from stand to stand, shop to shop, purchasing the

essentials, then began walking back towards the inn. My arms were full; but this

time I was especially careful not to drop anything—lest a gentleman appear out of

thin air once more. That was truly the last thing I needed right now. Quentin was

right; we could not have strangers poking around in our business while we were

staying here. And yet; the more I thought about it, the stranger Quentin's reaction

seemed. Sure, he had a right to be paranoid and surprised, but irate? Possessive? I

couldn't fathom his reasoning for it. Perhaps he'd just been acting the part of my

husband, but it still left me bemused as to why he would go to such extremes.

And… I couldn't fathom why a part of me was content with his rejoinders. Why I

felt… safe, warm, and proud of his strength in situations such as these. Was it simply

because I knew as long as he was on guard, Erik and I would be safe? That we would

never have to worry about our welfare as long as he was their, shielding us?

Yes. That must be it. What else could it be, for God's sake?

As soon as I was finished shopping, I returned to the room to find Erik and Quentin

sitting on the floor; Erik perched on Quentin's left knee, and a book on the other.

Quentin was reading to the toddler; his voice inflecting to each character or mood he

came across. I'd never heard him speak in such a way, or a plot so witty. The

storyline consisted of two men; one of who had tricked the other, and in response

the other retorted right back with something equally mortifying; convincing a

woman the target found rather irritating that he was in love with her! I stayed

in the doorway and hardly breathed; afraid I would make a sound and disrupt the

jovial mood. Erik was laughing incessantly, and I myself had to bite back a snicker;

some of Quentin's clever impersonations were so out of his normal disposition, it

was hard to believe it was still him speaking. I just listened in silence for a while,

heart swelling at the sound of Erik's adorable giggles and admiring Quentin's

wonderful reading, until a dramatic twist in the plot of the irritating woman falling

in love with the other man caused me to burst out laughing. Both of the room's other

occupants looked up, seeing me standing there. "Mamán! How was your trip

outside?" Erik exclaimed, jumping up and running into my open arms.

"Wonderful, bien-aimée! And look what I have for you!" I effused, pulling out

the shirt.

"Another clothes?" Erik asked, taking the shirt from my hands and holding it

up.

"Yes. And this one Mamán made herself so it should fit you a bit better." I

explained, perhaps a bit too triumphant for my own good.

"Oh Mamán… it's so soft! Thank you!" Erik smiled, wrapping his arms around

my neck.

"My pleasure, dear." I said quietly, leaning my face over to rest against his for

a moment. Then I put him down, handing Quentin his. "And this one's yours." I

began, grinning impishly at him, "But don't worry; I didn't work on this one at all. So

my unskilled hands have yet to ruin it."

"I'll admit it; Erik's turned out rather well. I have to hand it to you, Éponine."

Quentin laughed, taking the shirt and walking towards the bathroom to put it on.

"Be sure to change with haste; I want to give Erik a bath when you're

finished." I called after him.

"Bath?" Erik asked, eyes shining with confusion and curiosity.

"It's when you get into a tub full of water and wash all of the dirt off of you." I

clarified.

Less than a minute later, Quentin exited and went down to get water, and I began

readying Erik; both in ensuring that we had all of the needed material, and on a

more mental level.

"What does it feel like?"

"Just like water on your skin. It feels refreshing, cher, I promise."

"Does it hurt?"

"No, not at all."

"Is it cold?"

"Yes, unfortunately so."

"Why?"

"Because we have not a hearth to heat it with."

"You can heat water with fire?"

"Yes. You put the water over the fire in a pot and it warms right up!"

"How?"

"Fire can heat everything."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Before long I was explaining the concept of heat and fire and conductors to Erik, but

was thankfully interrupted by Quentin's return before I ran out of information for

him. And yet, as usual, he was perfectly mystified with what little I'd given him, and

immediately went to add a hearth to his miniature house. I helped Quentin carry the

buckets into the washroom, then called Erik in. "Why don't you rest while I get him

all washed up? You've been playing with him all day."

"Alright, much obliged. Let me know when you need to empty the tub." he

replied, nodding.

"I will. Thank you." I smiled at him before turning back to Erik. "Alright, little

one. Let's get you into the tub, now."

I helped him undress, which he was rather hesitant about, but after some coaxing

managed to let me. I was surprised at how much lighter the skin beneath his

clothing appeared; the layer of grime on his arms and other perceptible skin

extremely thick in comparison. After we had completed this part of the process, I

picked him up and brought him over to the tub. I was about to plop him down into it

when he tightened his grip on my dress and stopped me. I looked at him, and the

fearful expression on his face told me everything in one, silent glance. "It's alright,

Erik," I muttered, smoothing his sparse black hair, "I wouldn't make you do anything

that could hurt you. This is completely safe. In fact, it feels nice to get all the dirt off

you!"

"Promise?" Erik whispered, glancing down skittishly at the water.

"Cross my heart." I replied, hugging him to my chest once in encouragement.

He loosened his grip on my arm, then let me slowly lower him into the water. The

second he touched it, he let out a shriek and tried to scramble his way back up into

my arms. "It's cold!" he squealed, looking wide-eyed up at me.

"Everything alright?" I heard Quentin call from behind the door.

"Yes, we're fine. He's just getting used to the cold." I responded back, then

turned back to the little boy hanging halfway off my arms. "I know, and I'm sorry.

But we can't heat it, dearest. You'll get used to the temperature the longer you're in

there." I told him with a sigh. He mirrored my exploit, then nodded, loosening his

grip once more. I put him in the tub—all the way, this time—and braced myself as

he gasped and flailed about in shock; splashing me quite thoroughly in the process.

After a minute or so of letting him continue with this so that he might more easily

adjust, I grabbed one of his arms and began rubbing it with the freshly bought soap;

surprised at the immense amount of brown suds that quickly coated my hands. It

was coming off, but I could already tell that this was going to take quite some time.

Unfortunately, Erik didn't seem to have the attention span for that kind of time.

"Mamán; I'm boooored!" he groaned about six or seven minutes in. I held back an

exasperated sigh; I was hardly done with the first arm yet. "Well, dear…" I trailed off,

trying to think of something to hold his interest.

"Navy!" a muffled vestige of Quentin's voice suddenly reminded me from the

other room.

"Oh yes!" I stated happily. '_Thank God for you, Quentin!' _"Erik; why don't you

pretend to be a Navy officer? Remember? The water military!"

"Oh, oui! Captain Erik on deck; about face! Alright, at ease!" he barked,

jumping right into his game. I breathed a sigh of relief them resumed my hygienic

task; only stopping a few time to shake water off of my face where Erik had splashed

it accidentally. And as soon as the temperature was forgotten and the boredom was

resolved, the child was having the time of his life. He sloshed about and slapped the

surface of the water with his palms and even mustered up the courage to stick his

nose in to blow bubbles. He was like a little fish; and I immediately made a mental

note to ask Quentin about the safest places to teach a child to swim around here.

From the glee he was taking out of a simple bath, I could only imagine what fun he'd

have in the sea.

After I'd finished scrubbing the coat of dirt off the majority of his body, I picked up a

neatly folded washcloth from the floor next to me and wet it, tilting Erik's chin up so

that his eyes met mine. "Alright; I'm going to do your face now. Just… tell me if

anything… hurts." I stuttered, trying to find the right words. In the little time that I'd

known him, there was still much I didn't know about his deformity; such as whether

it was an injury or something he'd been born with. I strongly suspected the latter,

considering the mien of a corpse was not simply acquired through something like a

fire or rash, but could never be sure.

The boy was surprisingly accepting of this announced action; simply nodding once

before returning to his aquatic game. My heart swelled in his trust, and I brought my

shaking hand forward and ever-so-gently pressed the cloth to his face. He looked so

fragile… skin so breakable…

I softly began rubbing the rag around as a test; and when no negative reaction was

given, increased pressure slightly with a sigh of relief. At least I now knew that it

wasn't _terribly_ sensitive; even though from where my fingers brushed over it, it felt

as though I were washing paper—the only thing obviously distinguishing it being

the bulging blue veins running through it. Unpleasant as they made the overall look

of the skin, they gave me a strange sort of consolation. For reasons unknown, they

reminded me that this little child sitting in front of me was _real_; a human like any

other. That he was _alive_.

As I concluded the finishing scrubs of his face (taking _extra _care on his withered,

sunken cheeks; for they felt as if I could tear right through them), I hung up the

washcloth on a hook to dry and held out the towel I'd set out for him. I was soaked

to the skin and positively exhausted, but he was wholly clean. "Come on, Erik. Time

to get out." I told him, tugging gently at his hand.

"Aw, no mamán! I want to keep playing in the water!" he whined, staring at

me pleadingly.

"I'm sorry, my little fish; it's time to dump the water out." I teased, grinning at

him.

"Fish? Why do you call me 'fish'?" he questioned.

"Remember when Quentin spoke to you of fishing, and when in my nature

books we came across the pages where there were scaly animals with no neck and

strange tails?" I asked him, trying to describe the pictures the best I could. When he

nodded, I continued. "Well, those are fish. They are creatures that live under the

water all the time, because they breathe water instead of air like we do." I justified.

Erik looked positively awe-struck. "Underwater forever? Oh mamán; may we go see

the fish?" he asked, practically bouncing.

"Well perhaps if you got out of the bath, we could go ask Quentin." I coaxed

cleverly. He took the bait, scrambling out of the tub. I'd barely gotten the towel

around him when he made a break for the door. For a moment, I simply sat there

chuckling; watching him go with amusement. But then it suddenly popped into my

head the one vital thing he was missing. "Erik, wait!" I cried out, picking his mask up

off the floor and jumping to my feet.

But I was too late. Just as I'd uttered my cautionary holler, Erik had run out into the

main room calling Quentin's name.

And let me just put it this way; I have never in _this_ life heard a man yell with such

terror in his voice.

Ah, memories.

**Author's Note****: Hello everyone! Heh heh… Remember me? **

***dodges tomatoes thrown at her screaming, "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorrryyyyyyy!"* Please, just hear me out! **

***tomatoes halt for the time being* Thank you. You won't regret it. **

**Ok… so I know it's been MONTHS since I last updated this story… but I've been indescribably busy. :( Not to mention the fact that I got no feedback on my last chapter, so I kept forgetting about it until it faded into the back of my cluttered mind! That is, until I received a StoryWatch over the weekend; and realized what a terrible author I've been! Forgive me, I hope you're all still reading! And thank you to **_**Lizze the Wolf373 **_**for being my "aide-mémoire"! :D**

**So Quentin's seen Erik's face now… how will he handle it? Dun dun duuunn! R&R! **


	17. Chapter 17

I rushed into the room just in time to see Quentin; eyes wide and hands out above

him in a frightened gesture, and Erik's startled, perplexed reaction. I sprang into

action; wrapping the towel back around Erik (it had slipped down in his shock) and

placing him in the chair in the corner, before rushing over to Quentin. "Quentin?

Quentin; look at me." I besought, trying to get him to tear his stunned, horrified eyes

away from the little boy in the corner. It worked; his eyes flickered over to me like a

child seeking solace from a nightmare. "Remember, Quentin. That's Erik. Erik who

likes to play army and navy with you! Erik who we rescued from his cruel mother!

Erik who usually wears a mask because his mother made for to cover his _facial _

_deformity_!" I smiled at him in an attempt to soothe his wild expression; accentuating

the last two words as to make him remember the scientific term of what he was

looking at. Quentin looked up at me, then to Erik, and then back to me, mouth finally

moving from its agape position. "But… h—how?" he stammered, disbelief overtaking

his countenance.

"I don't know. It is my belief that he was born with it, though." I replied in

that same, tranquil tone. The former police officer closed his eyes; shaking his head

and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Born with it. Alright. Wow. Just… mon dieu. I've never seen anything like

that." he muttered.

"It's alright. He caught you by surprise, and it _is_ quite shocking." I assured,

patting his hand.

"I do hope you'll forgive me. I was just… mon dieu; everything actually makes

_more_ sense now! With the… and…you were right before; his unearthly talents _do _

seem to reside to make up for his lack of looks." Quentin continued, half to himself.

"I'm glad this has been… enlightening… for you. I'm assuming now you see

why we need to be especially careful from now on?" I asked, looking him in the eyes.

"Absolutely. I again apologize for my reaction; but it was only… instinctive."

he grimaced, bowing his head.

"No need to apologize. Though I cannot say I reacted _quite_ as strongly at my

first glimpse, I did indeed experience the jolting astonishment you had. Perhaps

even more, considering I had no one to tell me about it beforehand." I shot him a

half-smile.

"A _lesser_ reaction when completely oblivious to what you were about to

view? Good God Éponine; you must have the endurance of a thousand armies! What

sorts of things have you seen in your life?" Quentin exclaimed, joking lightly. I played

along, though I was mostly just grateful he'd so easily accepted this… situation.

"Things I could not possibly describe in fear of tarnishing you innocent ears."

I winked, though I could've just as easily laughed at the pure truth of the statement.

Quentin laughed, then just looked at me, smiling for a moment. "He's lucky to have

found you." he whispered kindly.

It was a big compliment from my perspective as the new, inexperienced, positively

terrified-and-unsure mother; and I beamed in response, thanking him with my eyes.

Our conversation was interrupted by the tiniest of whimpers from the corner; and I

turned to see Erik staring at Quentin, eyes wider than I'd ever seen them. I

scrambled over to him and swept him into my arms, saying, "Erik? What's wrong?"

"He…he…he…he got… mauvaise mamán's face. The expression she'd get a few

minutes before she'd hit me. And I've…I've never been h—hit by a _man_ before. Men

are… men are very b—big, mamán!" Erik sputtered, fading into a diminutive,

terrified, delusional whisper by the end. My heart shattered, and I pulled him close.

"There, there," I murmured, feeling silent tears soaking into my clothes, "Quentin

was just a bit surprised, like I was when I first saw your face. Look at him now, you

see? He would never hurt you."

"B—but… he had _the expression_! You didn't look like ma autre mamán when

you saw me!" Erik blubbered fearfully.

"Yes, but different people get different faces, cher. That doesn't change how

they feel about you. Just look, dear! Quentin is still your best friend!" I enthused,

trying to calm him jittery anxiety. To my respite, Erik peeked out at his older

playmate, and Quentin immediately began helping me in my soothing. "Hello Erik.

I'm very sorry I frightened you, you just surprised me when you came running out of

the bathroom!" he told the small boy, smiling warmly and shrugging. Erik was quiet

for a moment, scouring the former policeman's amiable expression with his

abnormal, soulful eyes. But then he quietly said, "So… you're not going to beat me?"

"Never. How could I even _think_ of hurting my best playmate and most

vehement Captain?" Quentin grinned, walking over to kneel beside the chair Erik sat

in.

"Even though my face is like a 'demon'?" Erik questioned him, eyes widening

hopefully. A lump formed in my throat at the thought of his terrible descriptions of

himself, and I instantly cut in. "Your face isn't that of a demon, it's just… different!

That's all." I told him, gently stroking his thin, malnourished cheek. He leaned into

my touch like a cat, grabbing my fingers and pressing them to his skin. The action

nearly sent my self-control over the edge completely; his mistreatment making this

tiny, insignificant little exploit that so many people in the world take for granted

seem like the most wonderful of privileges.

"Exactly! It's a special sort of face, Erik." Quentin added. I shot him a grateful

glance. Erik smiled shyly, bony hand drifting up to rest on his nonexistent nose.

"Really? Ugly is… special?" he asked us innocuously.

"Yes. I bet your face is the only one like it in the entire world!" Quentin said

truthfully. I bit back a laugh at the satiric reality of the statement. Erik's grin grew;

our positive perception of his unfortunate defect seemed to be working. "Then

entire… world? But; how big is the world?" Erik asked; his frequent, continual

curiosity returning. Quentin and I were silent for a moment, trying to find a way to

explain the utter vastness of the world to such a wandering, young mind. But then I

knew, and I said, "As big as the mind can reach. The more capacious the mind, the

better you can see and grasp the world around you."

His eyes widened to the near span of the mouth of a cave, and I smiled, holding out

his mask to him. His short-lived amazement at my statement disappeared as his

eyes fell upon it. "But mamán—why must I still wear my mask? Quentin was just

surprised… right? Or… does it bother him too?" he asked, withered face falling

slightly. I bit my lip, unsure as to what to tell him. Quentin took this opportunity to

cut in, saying, "Not one bit. Erik's right, Éponine. He shouldn't have to wear it unless

he goes out." I looked at him in surprise, but he shrugged, shooting me a little smile.

Erik looked so overjoyed, I was surprised when he didn't leap ten feet in the air in

his exultation. "Thank you, Quentin! I promise I will be a good boy and always wear

it outside!" Erik squealed, jumping up out of his chair and grabbing Quentin around

the waist (as he was still kneeling and the said area was within reach). Quentin

looked slightly surprised at the child's active show of affection, but after a moment

he wrapped his arms around the malformed boy. I felt my eyes welling up as I

watched them, both from the sweetness of the scene and from the sadness I felt

knowing that Erik received so much joy from _not_ having to wear his mask. I hadn't

truly realized until that moment just how disheartening a figure the thing was for

him.

As Erik detached himself from his understanding, accepting, elder friend; I said,

"Erik, dear? Why don't you go practice your reed pipes?" I wanted to properly thank

Quentin, and needed to distract Erik in order to politely do so.

"Okay, mamán! Shall I keep trying the violin song?" Erik asked, smiling

adorably in excitement.

"If you still remember the tune, why not?" I grinned back at him.

"I do, it goes like this! Lala lalalala lala la la la la!" he sang, and I could only

nod in agreement. I briefly wondered if I would ever cease to be speechless at the

sound of his cherubic little voice. He ran off to the room's dresser to get his

instruments, and I waited for a moment to be sure he was not paying attention

before turning to Quentin and saying, "You didn't _have_ to agree, you know. I'm sure

we could've found a solution that was… comfortable for everybody."

"No, it's alright. It'll just take some getting used to. I don't mind, really."

Quentin responded, smiling genuinely at me. I let out a sigh, hardly believing my

luck at his unconditional acceptance. "Thank you so much, Quentin. I know it may be

a bit… well, you've seen him now. You know. But I just can't bear the taking away of

his humanity any more than life already has."

"I couldn't agree more. Unusual as it may be, no one deserves that. _Especially_

not such a happy, charming little boy." Quentin supplemented.

"Exactly! I cannot even express how relieved I am that you understand." I

told him, stating my grateful respite flat out.

"My understanding? That's nothing special. Any man with half a decent

conscience could give you that much. Your love for him, however…" Quentin trailed

off, face growing serious and nearly… awed. I felt a heat rising to my cheeks, though

the reason for the flush was unbeknownst to me. "Oh, I don't know. Love? I've

known him for so little time…" I stammered, eyes darting towards the floor.

"Oh, stop that. You needn't be so modest with me. You fierce concern and

solicitousness for the boy could not possibly stem from anything else." Quentin said.

I was silent. Love? Did I really love the little boy I'd just recently taken in as my son?

It wasn't that I didn't want to. I more than wanted to; I was desperately desiring that

deep, caring bond that only a loving family could provide. I'd been deprived of it all

my life, and couldn't possibly count all the times the center of my daydreams had

been of such a family. But… that was just the thing.

Having been denied the domestic love every child should receive— and not to

mention the romantic love I could only _dream_ of while trailing around behind

Marius like a lost pup— I was left shying away from the thought of admitting to

myself that I loved something.

Damn it, it just wasn't fair! Why was my twisted past preventing me from telling my

_son _I loved him? Why were those distance memories still haunting me and leaving

me uncertain and doubtful? I didn't even know why I was asking myself these

imprudent, useless questions. I knew why.

I was scared to _death_.

In my life, everything I'd thought I'd loved had been torn away, destroyed, or even

betrayed me. All of these dreadful events had added up quick; pushing me so close

to the brink of trust that something so light as a feather could probably send me

sprawling over the edge. Now, my distorted mind had associated "love" with "loss"

and "pain". And if I openly admitted that I loved my sweet little son, would he be

ripped from my grasp, too?

Something like that is not so easily recovered from. _Romantic heartbreaks can be _

_mended if carefully tended by the careful craftsmanship of the mind; but when her_

_heart is impaired by her own child's despair—the pain is worse than all others _

_combined. _

I physically winced away from the thought; I couldn't bear the notion of losing

Erik—the boy I had vowed to always treat as though I myself had been the one to

give him life.

And as soon as _that _had crossed my mind, I knew I had my answer. I did love Erik;

the inevitable result of taking him on as my spawn.

"Éponine? Are you alright?" Quentin's worried question suddenly broke

through my train of thought. I nodded, smiling wearily at him. "I'm fine. I was just a

little… no, never mind."

"Never mind what?" Quentin asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

"It's nothing." I told him.

"If it were nothing, you wouldn't be trying to hide it."

"How did you know I was trying to hide it?"

"Well, your admitting it just now was helpful evidence." Quentin teased, and I

smacked him lightly on the arm. He laughed at me, then grew somber once more,

questioning me with his silent gaze. I sighed. "It's just… I'm not used to saying I love

people or things. Strange as that may sound; if you understood my past, you'd see

why. Certain events of my life have caused me to perceive the concept of 'love'

different than most." I explained, almost too ashamed to even look at the former

officer. Yet when I did, I found no mocking or pity in his eyes… just sadness. "What

exactly have you _lived_ through, Éponine?" he inquired quietly, concern and grief

washing over his expression. I laughed weakly. "Quite a lot, to say the least. I'm just

not exactly keen on revisiting it all, if that's alright."

"More than so. Just know that if you ever want to talk about it to someone,

I'm here for you." he told me with a small smile. I mirrored the expression. "Thank

you, I'll keep that in mind." I said; glad to know that when I was ready, there would

be a pair of open ears waiting for me.

As a period of silence settled over us, I turned to watch Erik fuss over his reed pipes;

his progression of the violin jig's melody increasing a surprisingly immense amount

further—though it had barely been a day. His fingers flew with the speed of the

hummingbird they'd once caught; playing the zesty reel eagerly in its full, original

speed. The speed—might I add—that the street performer had played the tune at;

the same masterful street performer who had been playing _for years_. I could feel the

pride swelling in my chest; for though I'd just admitted to myself of my love for the

boy, the gratification that fluttered in my chest as he displayed his prodigious

abilities had been growing for a while. Wasn't it only natural that after he received

the title of 'my son', I was to feel such proudness?

Abruptly, Erik looked up, pulling the pipes from his thin lips. "Quentin?" he probed,

cocking his head and looking at the bigger man.

"Mmhmm?" Quentin replied absentmindedly, sifting through my grocery

basket.

"How does the story end?"

"What story?"

"The one we were reading before my bath! The one with the men who were

enemies who tried to get the annoying lady to fall in love with each other!" the

toddler struggled to explain, barely remembering the more specific details of the

rather intricate plot.

"I don't know, Erik. I haven't written that part yet." Quentin responded

casually. My eyebrows shot up. He'd… he'd _written_ that?

"Oh." Erik sighed disappointedly. But Quentin made a quick and smooth

recovery. "But perhaps you'd like to help me finish it, Erik? I want to be sure the

ending is one of the best parts of the book, and I know you are very good at coming

up with ideas."

"Oh, oui! Yes please, Quentin!" Erik enthused. He ran over to the former

policeman, but then stopped in his tracks. "But Quentin… I cannot write as well as

you can! Mamán is still teaching me!"

"It's alright! How about you tell me what your idea is, and I write it down for

you?" Quentin suggested. Erik's face brightened instantly. "Okay! Hmm… his little,

distorted face scrunched up in concentration. As a few silent minutes went by, his

innate expression to one of anger; obviously irritated he could not think of anything.

Quentin caught sight of it at the same time I did, and cut in yet again to play

peacemaker. "Erik; you can take your time. You don't have to come up with an idea

right now."

"But I want to finish the story!" Erik protested.

"Yes, but the best…_ ideas _come to those who wait! Why don't you go play, and

tell me if you come up with anything." Quentin told him, patting his head. Erik huffed,

but nodded and shuffled back to his pipes. Once he'd begun playing once more, I

turned back to Quentin. "You write?" I asked, smiling, eyebrows raised. An evident

blush crept onto the lawman's cheeks. "Oh. Yes, I do greatly enjoy it."

"And now it is your turn to spare me your modesty. From what I heard

standing in the doorway, you can string together a plot with the wit and ingenuity of

the most intelligible student. You are very gifted and well-learned." I

complimented him with a smile. He smiled back; though his usually so sparkling and

boundless grin was shy and hesitant. I had to bite back a laugh. "Thank you, Éponine.

And please forgive my timorousness; this is… well, this is the first time I've ever

shown anyone my writing."

"Really? Well it's certainly worth showing. You've… you've got a real talent

here, Quentin." I told him, looking him in the eyes with an expression of utter

earnestness. His widened slightly—a childlike, surprised innocence residing in

them—and he answered, "You really think so? I've always been… well, afraid! Afraid

that my pieces wouldn't be good enough. That other people would have better

structured, developed, or attention-capturing fictions than I. So that really means a

lot." he finished with a crooked smile.

"My pleasure, it is well deserved on your part. And as for your worries, let me

ask you this; is this what you truly love to do? Do you genuinely find joy and

pleasure in writing?" I inquired gently.

"I… well, I don't know…"

"Clear you mind of all mortal concerns before you answer."

"Well then, all tangible worries aside, yes. I find great contentment,

gratification, and solace in the words I conceive." he nodded to me.

"Then why should you let petty concerns stop you? The thing I've learned

about writing is that there are no specific procedures or guiding principles. Some

like to think there are, but at the end of the day there is simply an artist with a

dream; a dream which he depicts through the words that run so freely, passionately,

and limitlessly from his mouth onto the paper beneath him." I reassured him

encouragingly. He was quiet for a moment; staring at me with his piercing green

eyes wide. It was the first time I'd ever really noticed his eyes—and they were the

color of a lush summer field; mirroring its warmth as well. They held the same sort

of astute and prudent, yet still kind and temperate, depth I saw in Erik's golden gaze,

and—as with the tiny boy—I felt as if these soulful orbs could see right through me.

I began to twitch the tiniest bit from his tenacious observation, inwardly wishing

he'd say something to break the discomfiture I was feeling beneath the weight of his

stare. And, as if reading my thoughts, he finally said, "You…you're absolutely right.

Not to mention the fact that it seems I am not the only expressive, poetic visionary

here."

"Me? Oh, I just say what I am feeling. I cannot gather my thoughts and

arrange them into a clever, intriguing conspiracy as you obviously can."

"But did you not just say that a writer is simply a person letting their

sentiments pour onto paper?" Quentin challenged, cocking an eyebrow good-

naturedly.

"Indeed. But I am going to elaborate on that; that is what it takes to _create_ a

writer, but it certainly helps the _reader_ if those notions are in a methodical, flowing,

and well-written narrative. And you've got it all, Monsieur." I winked with a chuckle.

"Well, I'm simply saying that you certainly have what it takes to be an

authoress, should you so choose to do so." Quentin returned with a laugh.

"Why, thank you sir! I know a lot of things, I d—" I began cheerily before

stopping midsentence.

It had just slipped out. It was just an instinctive, distant memory; a fast-fading piece

of my past.

And yet, even though I hadn't even _finished_ the blasted sentence, my mental dam

burst; a flash-back flooding through. One of my more shameful days tailing Marius.

I'd flirted and bragged and stolen his books; just for the thrill of him chasing me to

reclaim them. That day, I'd thought that perhaps… just maybe… he returned my

feelings! But I was nothing but a young, silly girl whose head was filled to the brim

with the amorous ideas of the romance novels she was named for back then.

Not to mention that was the very day he'd first met Cosette.

Quentin had begun to look at me strangely, so I forced my smile to return as I

shoved the reminiscence to the back of my mind. The dull, lamenting ache had

begun to pulse as it usually did; but this time I likened it to a reopened scab—still

painful and throbbing, but so recurring of a past injury that I could hardly feel it

anymore. Was this the numbness of oblivion? Had my pain truly become _that_

routine?

"—o. Do." I finished; praying he did not question my stuttering pause. And, to

my relief, he simply continued, "Indeed you do. Perhaps we could write something

together, one of these days." he grinned at me. I returned the gesture. "I'd like that

very much." I told him. My eyes flashed over to Erik, who was still fiddling with his

instruments, (now trying to match the notes of the pipes to that of the harp) and the

reason behind us barreling out of the bathroom in the first place popped into my

head. "By the way, Quentin; are there any places in town fit for teaching a toddler to

swim? He was having such fun in his bath alone; I couldn't even imagine how greatly

he'd enjoy the sea." I inquired. Quentin's brow furrowed in thought, and before long

he snapped his fingers, smiling at me. "Ah yes! There is a tiny cove that my brother

and I found in our time here. The locals are the only ones who know about it, and

they only go there on the week-ends when the week's work is finished." he

explained; eyes glowing as if reliving the memories.

"Is it safe? For such a young boy with no past swimming experience?" I

questioned, chewing on my lip nervously.

"Yes. It is very shallow, and the rock formations adjacent to it prevent the

waves from getting too rough. If I dare say it; I believe it is one of the best and safest

places to teach a child to swim in all of France!"

"But how many times have you had to find such a place?"

"Alright, point taken. But it really is precisely what we need. Not to mention

the fact that there's a little beach overlooking the water; though the entire cove is

absconded from view."

I couldn't hold back a sigh of respite. Then I could just sit and watch as the other two

frolicked in the water. It wasn't that I didn't want to join them, it was just that…

I'd never formally learned how to swim.

I knew how to keep myself afloat, and how to reach the surface after going under,

but I'd never been taught the specific, explicit forms that so many people used.

And unfortunately, Quentin seemed to have put two and two together. "You don't

know how to swim, do you Éponine?"

"I know how to keep myself above the surface, but apart from that, no." I

responded, cheeks burning.

"Well, at least that's more than most working-classmen know. You shouldn't

worry; you can touch the floor up until you get a quite a ways from shore. You'll

have no trouble." Quentin assured me. The statement soothed me slightly; for now

at least I knew I'd be able to wade if Erik was unwilling to go without me. "That's

good to know; I'm just not all that fond of getting wet." I told him, shrugging.

"Really? Not even on a blisteringly hot day, where no other form of solace is

beneficial?" Quentin teased, cocking an eyebrow.

"Not even then. I suppose my time being cold and wet _un_willingly in my life

has left me rather sour on the subject." I replied in sardonic jest. He took a moment

to search my expression for any signs of _true_ bitterness, then found it safe to laugh.

"Oh, you're no fun."

"Well, one of us has to be the bad cop—no pun intended. There cannot be

_three_ unsupervised children running about!" I said sassily. Quentin burst out in

roaring laughter. He went for several minutes chortling, and finally I realized that he

was not going to calm down any time soon; and this time was as good as any to duck

out of the conversation. "Now; if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get some more

water—as _I _want to bathe now." I announced, turning to the door. This only added

to Quentin's amusement. "What happened to, 'I'm not fond of being wet?" he

asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Damn it; I suppose I walked into that one." I shook my head, chuckling at my

own expense.

"Mamán! No, no, no! That is not a nice word!" Erik gasped, chastising me from

the corner. I bit back a laugh of mixed emotion—pride, entertainment, and indignity

the trailblazers. "Oops! I'm sorry, cher. I shouldn't have said that." I apologized.

"You know your child has passed you in mental maturity when he'd the one

correcting _you_." Quentin added; obviously fighting back another fit of laughter. I

whipped around, pointing a finger at him. "Oh, don't you even _start_." I dared him. He

put his hands up in a sign of surrender, but his shoulders shook with silent,

suppressed chuckles. I rolled my eyes with a smile before walking out the door.

I collected more water as well as a few more towels and soaps; not fearing what

they would supplement on the final bill, as we wouldn't be paying it anyway. I went

back up to the room and checked once with Quentin and Erik to be sure they didn't

need anything, then entered the bathroom and shutting the door. I stripped off my

clothing and lowered myself into the clean, fresh water; exhaling deeply as I felt its

cool, cleansing touch on my bare skin. I had been without the lavish luxury of a good,

thorough bath for what seemed like ages now—and I'd nearly forgotten what bliss

the nippy submersion brought. As soon as I'd taken a few moments to savor the

serene relaxation the first immersion brought; I set to work scrubbing away the first

and sweat I'd reluctantly collected. The soap was more sweet-smelling then

anything I'd ever smelled before; an enchanting mix of honey and roses. It was an

indulgence much like the ones I'd known as a little girl; back then when we'd bathed

every week and subsequently rubbed ourselves with deliciously scented oils. I

blocked out the memories the aroma brought—for though those reminisces were of

a happier time in my life, they would've inevitably lead to thoughts of the

Thernadiér downfall before long. So, instead I focused all of my attentions on the

soothing water enveloping me like a blanket, and the rich, wondrous smell of the

soap that I was massaging into my skin like a madwoman.

After a while of this tranquil soak, I decided that I'd washed enough; and—as little

as I may have wanted to—I had to get out to check on the boys. I hoisted myself up

out of the tub, grabbing a towel and wringing out my sopping wet hair before

wrapping it around my body. And as I turned slightly to tuck the ends around me, I

caught sight of the mirror. A girl with pale skin and dark, wide, doe-like eyes stared

back at me; her chocolate hair cascading down her shoulders like silken curtains.

She was thin but not underfed— her ribs barely showed anymore; and though her

skin was as white as cream, there was still the tiniest tint of color in her cheeks. Her

lips were no longer the thin, cracked things they'd once been; but were fuller, red,

and petal-shaped—shining glossily from the water they were covered in. Her warm,

brown eyes bored into me, reflecting the same shock I'm sure I now wore all over

my face. They day before, I'd still been covered in a fine layer of grime—nearly

unrecognizable—and before that I'd rarely look in a mirror, feeling it was a waste of

valuable time. Perhaps that was why—though I'd looked like this for twenty years—

I'd never fully gotten used to how different I looked in this body; why I was having a

hard time comprehending that this woman staring back at me _was_ me.

And I looked… almost pretty.

I tore my gaze away from my reflection, blushing furiously. _When did you become so _

_vain, 'Ponine? Stop this foolishness. _I scolded myself, picking my dress up off the floor.

I quickly rubbed myself the rest of the way dry, then slipped it on and unlocked the

door. I couldn't help noticing the difference in scent; for my nose had gotten used to

the intoxicating odor of the soap, and now the change in aromatic atmosphere was

evident. I couldn't imagine what the sudden burst of floral fragrance smelled like to

Erik and Quentin. It must have been rather overwhelming to their senses!

I stepped out into the main room, and abruptly Erik's playing stopped. I looked over

to see him looking at me inquisitively, and I smiled at him; knowing he must be

confused for how dissimilar I looked. I'd done little more then wash my face in all

the time I'd known him; so this sudden renovation must've bemused him. "Erik,

dearest?" I uttered gently, walking towards him.

"Mamán?" Erik whispered, reaching out to timidly touch my cheek.

"Hello, darling." I cooed, putting my hand on top of his. In the past, I would've

laughed at my maudlin tone; but now…now it seemed… right.

"You look so…" Erik began, but then trailed off; tiny eyes scouring my form.

"Clean? As do you, Erik." I finished for him. The little boy smiled shyly. "I bet

when Oliver dreams of his mamán he wishes for her to be as beautiful as you."

My lips parted in a silent 'o'. I looked at my adopted child in a shocked contentment;

suddenly self-conscious and red as a beet. "Oh… th—thank you, Erik." I stammered,

forcing a bashful smile. Erik returned the gesture; his perfect rows of white baby

teeth gleaming in the warm light of the room. "You're welcome, mamán. Your cheeks

feel very soft; and… oh—what is that smell?"

"The soap I used in my bath. It's a bit different than yours. It's made of

flowers and… honey? Yes, I think it's honey." I clarified.

"Soap made of honey? Mm…" Erik inhaled before pressing his face directly on

my shoulder. I felt his shriveled nose holes through the fabric of my dress; and yet I

only pulled him closer. "May I use some of the honey-soap next time?" he

precipitously piped up; murmuring into the cloth.

"Of course you may. I know how much you love honey!" I ensured him

cheerfully. He thanked me with mirrored eagerness, then reached down to pick up

his reed pipes—losing interest in my newfound alteration as only a toddler could.

"Mamán! Would you like to hear the rest of the violin song?" he queried keenly.

"Of course dear. You've learned the whole thing so soon?" I asked him,

though no surprise came.

"Oui!" Erik exclaimed; crossing his arms with a look proud enough to

challenge a smug adult. I swiftly picked him up, spinning his around once before

hugging his close. "That's incredible! Mamán is so proud of you!" I praised him

through his shrieking giggles. He beamed at me, then began playing without another

word. I put him down on the chair in the corner, clapping to the beat and tapping my

foot in sync. Quentin laughed once from behind before joining me in my

self-created beat.

Erik made it through the song once with not one slip-up or fault, then effortlessly

began again at least _two times faster_—all without missing a beat. Quentin let forth of

whistle of amazement, and Erik—with his lips still firmly pressed to his precious

instrument—looked up at him with a delighted sparkle in his cat-like eyes. Then

they flew to me; seeming to desperately plead for approval. I shot him a smile as

wide as I could stretch it, nodding vigorously. His brilliant eyes reflected adorable

grins of their own, then snapped back to the delicate implement in his hands. I

watched him in amazed gratification for but a moment more before I was suddenly

jerked back to the center of the room. And before I could even gasp in astonishment,

I looked up to see Quentin smiling down at me, spinning us around. "What are you

doing?" I shouted, though it was enveloped in a laugh.

"Dancing. Don't tell me you've never danced before!" Quentin teased.

"Not with a partner!" I replied as he let go of one of my arms and spun me

outward before snapping me back into his arms again.

"It's easy! Just let the music move you!" Quentin told me.

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm pretty sure it's _you_ moving and whipping

me around!" I indicted flippantly.

"Well, I'll help you; but you just have to _feel_ the rhythm!" Quentin conveyed

lightheartedly.

Erik had finished another round of the song, and repeated once more even _faster_.

And as he sped up, Quentin's light, springy, lively jig accelerated as well. I couldn't

help it; I let out a half yelp, half laugh. "Quentin! Quentin; what are you—" I shrieked.

"Come on, Éponine; just _dance_!" Quentin chuckled before taking me in his

arms and dipping me down towards the ground. I looked over at Erik, who—even

though looked to be sideways from my parallel-to-the-floor line of sight—was

nodding enthusiastically (and still simultaneously playing as easy as breathing!). So

I smiled, shaking my head, and let Quentin and the sprightly tune Erik was so

masterfully playing dance me around the room.

A floor below, the miserly innkeeper's wife listened with her jaw clenched in

irritation as she attempted to keep herself from throwing out some of their best

paying customers; and her sons smiled secretly to themselves as they swept the

floors to the joyous beat of a tiny boy's glorious music.

**Author's Note:**** Bonjour, good readers! I'm doing better about updating, eh? Anyway, I wanted to share with you the inspiration behind Erik's "violin song"; as my incessant 'lalalala's' are probably not very informative. XD **

** watch?v=XVpPVinXcCw**

**Now; I know links don't usually work on here, so if you go on YouTube and type into the search box, "**_**Amazing irish violin player" **_**and click on the first result—a video by a user named 'igyurry'—that is the tune I envision in my head, but in a sort of flute form. **

**And as for the chapter; well, it seems Quentin has accepted Erik's unfortunate deformities, 'Ponine's admitted she loves our widdle future Phantom, and everyone is all laughing and merry and (quite literally) dancing for joy. But something wicked this way comes, dear readers. It can't always be so fluffily full of butterflies and rainbows! **

**Penny for your thoughts? Or… R&R for your thoughts? :) ~DonJuana**


	18. Chapter 18

"Alright, Erik; it's bedtime now!" I said, gingerly taking his reed pipes from his hands.

"No! Why can we not keep dancing?" Erik protested, vainly trying to take the

instrument back. I held it out of his stout reach. "Because, cher—" I began, tucking

his precious toy away in my skirts, "We have been dancing for several hours; and I'm

about ready to collapse!"

"But—" Erik began to object, but I cut him off, gently laying him on his back

on the bed.

"Hush now… you need sleep." I said softly, running my hand with the

prudence of a glassblower down his papery cheek. He sighed, closing his eyes with a

small smile on his face. But then he reached up and grabbed my hand, opening his

eyes to their full, dazzling, golden glory. "Sing?"

"Haven't you heard and played enough music for one afternoon?" I teased

him tenderly. His sleepy toddler smile returned. "I will never have enough of music.

I would play my harp and my pipes and sing and dance all the time if I could! Music

is the best thing in the entire world!"

"And _you_ are the best little boy I have ever seen; in singing, instruments, _and_

disposition." I smiled down at him. He cocked his head in befuddlement. "What's

disper—dispose-it—"

"Dis-pos-ition means your attitude or character. So I'm saying you are the

kindest, happiest, and most energetic boy I know!" I elucidated.

"But what about Quentin? Isn't he kind, happy, and energy-ic too?" Erik

wondered, pointing to the man. I glanced over to where Quentin stood—leaning up

against the wall—in the corner of the room; and he smirked as I began making a

show of "inspecting" him, making Erik giggle.

"No; Erik, you even beat Quentin." I said after a minute, winking jokingly at

the former policeman and turning back to Erik. The tiny boy shook with delighted

laughter, clapping his hands together. I laughed with him, and Quentin's sudden

protest of, "Hey! How did I get second place?" only tickled us further. I waited until

we'd calmed down a bit, then pulled the sheets out from under Erik and adjusted his

body position so that he could properly and comfortably rest beneath them. "Alright,

we've had our fun. Now it's time to dream." I purred softly; knowing our lurid

merriment had wound him up again. But he simply wiggled his arms out of the

blankets and took a firm latch on my arm. "Sing." he pleaded, gently tugging on me

until I gave in and sat myself down on the bed. "Alright, alright. Let's see… oh! I

know just the lullaby. '_Bonsoir__mon temps__ange pour__fermer les yeux__...__  
><em> 

_et enregistrer__ces questions__pour un autre jour__…__" _as I began to sing I looked down at

him with a raised eyebrow; good-naturedly referencing his endless barrages of

questions. A tiny blush crept onto his pale, withered face; and it stuck out palpably

against the cream-like color. I smiled to let him know it was all in good fun, then

continued, "_Je pense que je sais ce que vous avez été me demandant… je pense que vous _

_savez ce que j'ai essayé de dire. J'ai promis de ne jamais vous laisser… et vous devez _

_toujours savoir… où que vous alliez, peu importe où vous êtes; je ne serai jamais loin. _

_Bonsoir, mon ange; maintenant il est temps de dormer_… _et__le rêve__merveilleux__de votre_

_vie sera. Un jour, nous serons tous partis, mais berceuses aller sur et sur... Ils ne _

_meurent jamais c'est ainsi que vous et je sera…__" _I finished mellifluously; practically

swaying in exhaustion myself. Erik's eyes were shut, and he had a faint, sweet smile

on his face; but from the normal-paced rising and falling of his chest, I knew he

wasn't asleep _just _yet.

"Mamán?" he murmured as if answering my unspoken observation.

"Yes, dear?"

"Is this lullaby true? Do you mean it?"

"Which part?"

"That you'll never leave me?"

I sighed in a rather contradictory expression of contentment and sorrow, but smiled

and leaned down to wrap my arms around him. "Yes; of course I meant it. I am your

mamán, am I not? I will stay with you always, Erik. I love you, my sweet son." I

whispered directly into his ear. He let out a tiny, barely audible gasp; and I pulled

away to see his eyes wide. "You… do? You… _love_ Erik? Me?"

"I do. I love you and am so proud of everything you do." I told him; my heart

beating quickly and swelling caringly at the same. Erik looked up at me with an

expression so near awed _worship_ that I could instantly feel a blush burning on my

cheeks. "Really? Oh, mamán I love you too! At first I wasn't really sure because I

didn't know what you were supposed to feel and look like when you 'love'; but now I

know and I was just afraid to say it because I thought you might shout at me!" he

rambled sheepishly. A forlorn frown tugged at the small smile now residing on my

lips; but I forced it back as I slipped into the bed and pulled him into my arms.

"That's alright. But you don't ever need to be afraid of that again, okay?"

He snuggled up closer to me; trying to wrap his short, thin arms around my waist.

"Okay. Mamán?"

"Yes, ma petite?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Erik." I chuckled softly as he tested out the new phrase.

"And mamán?" he mumbled into my chest; and I could tell by the feebleness

of his tone that he was beginning to slip away.

"Mmhm?"

"Why did you call me 'angel' in the… lullaby?" he yawned out the night's final

inquiry.

"Because you are an angel. My darling little angel who has a cherubic talent

for music." I answered him quietly— the words that came flowing out of my mouth

ones I knew I would've felt foolish saying in the past; but now not only paid no mind

to—but I felt a lump in my throat as I dictated them. I loved him, and I felt it most

evidently now; but my terror had also increased. What if I failed him? What if he got

taken away from me? What if I couldn't give him what he needed? Couldn't provide

for him just after he'd learned to depend on me? What if my past caught up with me

(or the police, for that matter!) and dragged him down with me?

"Un ange? An angel… an angel of… music." Erik sighed before falling into the

rhythmical pattern of sleep. I looked down at the sound of his whisper, and I could

feel my eyes soften at the sight of his serene, unconscious expression. All of my

worries disappeared to the back of my mind; and though I knew they'd be back,

nothing else mattered but this little boy resting in my arms.

"Among other things." I heard Quentin whisper from the corner; and I looked

up to see him gesturing towards the dollhouse. I smiled, nodding in agreement. Then

I looked down at my sleeping toddler who had ended up with a very gripping hug on

me. "I suppose I should have changed _before_ I put him to bed, shouldn't I?" I said,

looking down at my dress—which slightly dust-stained from my trips out for water.

"It hath been noted for future reference." Quentin chuckled, tapping his head.

"That was a very nice lullaby, by the way." he continued on with a smile.

"Thank you. My Uncle Jobelie once sang it to my sister and I whilst visiting

my father." I told him with a slight grimace.

"Why the sour expression? That seems like one of your more pleasant

memories." he asked; a slight hint of caution in his tone.

"That night was the last time I ever saw him." I responded grimly.

"Oh. I'm so sorry." Quentin said; eyes shocked. I couldn't tell whether he was

apologizing for my assumed loss, or for prying into the matter. Most likely a bit of

both.

"It's alright, you didn't know; though you should've by now. It seems like you

find yourself apologizing for my misfortunes quite often!" I said lightly, trying to

make a joke out of my frequently mentioned and very much ill-fated life. Which was

a joke in itself, might I add.

He grinned and—though I thought it looked the slightest bit strained—went along

with it; obviously as eager as I to brighten the mood. "Indeed I do. Almost as often as

you call Erik 'dear' now." he jested.

"What? Isn't that the appropriate way for a mother to address her son?" I

fired back.

"Well of course; but it makes you sound so much older! Like a maid of forty

instead of your late twenties—"

"I'm only twenty-six." I cut him off, warning him amusedly with my eyes.

"And I'll have you know that I know plenty of young mothers who call their children

such formal nicknames!"

"But just how young is 'young'?" he continued, obviously fighting back a

laugh as he walked towards the washroom.

"Oh, you're terrible!" I hissed with a laugh of my own.

"You can hardly mean that if you're laughing." he winked before shutting the

door behind him. I rolled my eyes before slowly and gently adjusting Erik's sleeping

form so that he rested on the pillow and wrapped him up to his chin in blankets. As

soon as I was sure he was securely settled, I got up and went to stand outside the

bathroom door. I rapped on it, practically feeling Quentin jump at the sound. "How

did you—" he asked quietly from the other side of the door. I smirked to myself.

"He's a four-year-old boy who's as thin as a tree branch, Quentin. It was hardly an

implausible feat."

"But you didn't wake him?"

I looked back once at the tiny child; who was rest assured in the exact position I'd

left him in. "No. He's quite a sound sleeper for his age." I replied, leaning up against

the doorframe.

"Well you better knock on w—" he began as he suddenly exited the

bathroom; only stopping when he walked right into me, face mere inches from mine.

He stared at me for a moment— eyes wide with shock— and I cocked an eyebrow

with a lopsided smile. "Something wrong?"

"Oh… n—no. I was just saying you better knock on wood as to not jinx

yourself. He's still very young."

"First; I don't believe in jinxes. Second; if nothing was wrong, you wouldn't

have looked like you'd seen a ghost when you came out of that bathroom." I

responded sassily. He shook his head, a small smile on his face. "You just surprised

me, is all."

"But you knew I was there, I knocked on the door."

"Oh, just shut it. You'll wake Erik." he snorted.

"That's no way to talk to a lady!" I chastised him lightly, challenging him with

my eyes.

"Is that what you are? I hadn't noticed." he teased in retaliation, reaching out

and tugging on a strand of my still slightly-damp hair. I let my mouth fall open in

false offense. "Bastard!" I said, hitting him lightly on the arm.

"Is that any way to speak to a gentleman?" he fired back, eyes glinting in

sheer merriment. I stuck my tongue out at him in a gesture I'd often used in my

childhood, then shut the bathroom door in his face. He chortled from the other side.

"Well done. Very ladylike."

"Now you shut it." I joked in reply. His laughter faded as he walked toward

the bed, and I set to work changing out of my day-clothes. As soon as I had finished I

combed out my wavy hair and exited; walking over to the bed and blowing out the

last candle on my way. I climbed under the covers—taking special care to work

around Erik—before lying down; eyes boring into the ceiling as I waited for

exhaustion to overtake me and shut them.

"Anything interesting up there?" Quentin whispered in jest.

"Indeed! A most intriguing study of the color white." I replied in sham

fascination. We laughed mutedly together for a moment; and then I glanced over at

him, a sudden thought striking me. "It's rather satiric, isn't it? I mean; here we are,

sharing a bed, and yet we know so little about each other."

"I actually have an easy solution for that, if you feel you're up for it." he

whispered, turning to look at me. His eyes housed a challenge; but there was

nothing joking about them. That look startled me; but I slowly nodded and said,

"Alright; and what might that be?"

"Well, when I was younger; my brother and I would stay up until the wee

hours of the morning playing a game of questions. You see; the only rules of this

game are that you must take turns asking the question, and then both players have

to answer it. Sound easy enough?" he asked me.

I bit my lip. "Well, yes; but…" but then I looked over at him; this man who had

trusted everything I'd said since he'd busted me out of jail, and sighed. "And though

I'm sure I'll regret this later… let's play."

"Alright then... I'll come up with the first question as an example. Hm… oh!

What is something you wish you'd never done?" he fired right off the bat.

"Goodness; we're only one question into the game and already I'm finding

myself at a loss for an answer. My life has been made up of nothing _but_ regrets." I

snorted.

"You can't keep telling yourself that," Quentin sighed, "when you've done so

many good things since I've met you."

"Yes but… before that…. well, let's just say I'm not an innocent girl." I told him,

eyes darting downward in shame. But they didn't stay there for long before I took a

deep breath and internally told myself to toughen up and face the past. "But, I'll

answer anyway. Well, the usual suspects are stealing, lying, cheating, conning… all

things that I grew up around; all things that my father taught me once we were out

on the streets. But…" I trailed off, thinking deeply, "those aren't the only things.

There's something that… that I still feel horrible about—even after all these years—

that have nothing to do with them. I'd… well, my parents used to fight _constantly. _

Once the money was gone, so was the supposed love they had for each other, and I'd

often come home surprised that they hadn't yet torn each others' throats out. It used

to become… just too _much_ for me at times; all the screaming and yelling and beating.

So, I'd abscond from the flat and run somewhere else… _anywhere_ else. But the thing I

regret about that is that I'd always leave my younger sister Azelma behind. I'd

always be so desperate to leave… to get out… to not have to hear it anymore… that I

would never remember to go get her; to tell her where I was going—though half the

time I didn't know myself. Now I've realized that I should never have left on her

own; I always should have always made sure she'd known when I was going to flee.

She was much more… innocent and… sensitive than I was. And I realize now that she

needed someone there. Someone to hold onto until everything passed over for the

time being. I shouldn't have left her but… I just… couldn't _stay_." I muttered; then

looked over at Quentin, heat rising to my cheeks as I came back from my

subconscious world. "I don't know if I'm making any sense but… to sum it all up, I

guess I just wish I could have been a better sister."

"And, one question into the game, you have also already stunned me. I

thought for sure you would dance around the intimacy of the question and just say

what I already knew; the lying, cheating, and stealing. But you opened up… so thank

you." Quentin said, smiling. I forced a smile of my own; a sudden thought popping

into my head. "Well; intimacy is what this game is about, no? And who am I to go

back to my old ways and cheat my way around that?"

But the crushing weight of the irony of that statement could have killed me right

then and there. Because I'd just realized that I _was_ dancing around the all-

revealing nature of the question.

For I'd be damned if hurting Azelma was my only secret regret; and yet the other

one I was not at all eager or willing to bring into the light.

And that regret's name was Marius Pontmercy.

Every day of my life since I'd seen him kissing that little bourgeois I'd regretted ever

seeing him; and then even _more_ so for allowing myself to become friendly with him.

Every day of my life since that night on l'Rue Plumet I'd regretted loving him.

Because now I couldn't fully let him go.

I cursed in my head; forcing the abominable thoughts back before forcing myself to

say, "What about you? This should be interesting; I've never before heard the

confessions of a policeman."

Quentin laughed quietly. "You may be surprised to hear this; but I'm not as perfect

as I may seem." he winked, and I rolled my eyes amusedly at him. But then his face

grew somber again, and he continued, "I've made my fair share of mistakes in the

past too. But one of my biggest regrets does not stem off a blunder in moral… but is

that I never told my parents how I really felt about becoming a servant to the law."

My eyebrows shot up. "Really?" I breathed in surprise.

"Yes! I mean, the path was not my choice; but I never spoke of my displeasure,

either. Perhaps my father would have relieved me of my duties had I said

something… but I never did. Never took the chance of finding out. So, I guess it was

partially my own fault that I never found much enjoyment in my profession." he

chuckled dryly.

I cocked my head, examining his expression. There was true shame there; this

obviously bothered him more than he cared to admit to me. So, I put on a sort of

understand half-smile and I said, "Well it's not entirely your fault. You just… didn't

want to disappoint your father. It's understandable; trust me, I've been through the

same thing. It's a difficult situation to be in; but you mustn't worry, for men mightier

than you have fallen into the trap of satisfying their parents." but then I stopped,

jestingly tapping my chin. "Alright now, my turn… ah! Has there ever been

something you've longed to be able to do—ability or material-wise—but couldn't

because of lack of money or skill?" I asked, propping myself up on an elbow as I

looked at him questioningly. He grinned at me in response; eyes glinting. "Well, the

idea of being able to sing has become more appealing to me lately, since you and

Erik are both so blessed in that area."

"Oh, don't say that. Everyone can sing. And I'm not even that good—"

"Yes you are. Again; don't be so modest." he winked.

"Anyway, continue." I urged as I blushed; trying to steer the conversation

away from any false flatteries pointed towards me.

"Well, all else aside; I guess I… wow, there's just so much out there a man

could do. I've always inwardly grumbled about being stuck patrolling the streets of

Paris; but I've never once thought about what I yearned to do if I ever got out. Well…

for one thing… traveling." he stated decisively.

"Traveling?" I asked; slightly surprised.

"Yes! Just… seeing the world. Getting out of Paris and venturing out to distant

lands. Getting to experience first-hand the cultural diversities… hear the languages…

taste the traditional foods! Does not the adventure and excitement of it all just…

beckon to you?" Quentin hissed in animated enthusiasm.

I couldn't hold back a grin of my own; his vigor was contagious. "I must admit… the

more you speak of it the more intriguing it becomes. I guess I've… never really

thought about what else was out there. I've always just been so focused on my life

and what was right there in front of me. I completely understand why it holds such

allure to you."

"Yes. That and… perhaps even publishing some of my writing." he added; a

bit quicker and more hesitant.

"Really?" I questioned; grin widening to a beam in encouragement.

"Yes. Getting admiration for that which I find such enjoyment in." he

continued, and I could practically _feel _the heat rising off his skin. And the reaction

was understandable; if he'd truly never shown anyone his writing before, this was

bound to have been a difficult admittance for him. And she was sure she'd feel the

very same way as they got deeper into the game; embarrassed and shameful.

"Well; I think that is a _wonderful _dream." I told him blithely, "I mean, just

imagine it! Traveling the world and writing about your experiences. And then

releasing your work to the people so that they may share in your encounters as if

they were right there next to you!"

"Oh, I don't know if my words could do _that_, but—"

"They most certainly could! Don't be so hard n yourself, Quentin; you have a

real talent. Ad that's the last I want to hear about it." I winked, waggling a finger at

him. He chuckled, but quickly found a way to turn the conversation back to me.

"Alright, well what about you?" he asked, catching my eye.

"Well, like you said; there are just so many things out there! One aspiration I

remember from when I was a little girl was the desire to learn to play the piano. I'd

always hear of those grand, elegant ladies sitting down in their parlors and so

gracefully playing the most wonderfully sweet music; and dreamed of growing up to

be like them. And for some reason unbeknownst to me, my young mind thought that

learning to play could get me there. But I came to understand that that dream was

senseless and childish; not to mention nearly implausible. That's why when I look at

Erik—see all he's accomplished in just a few weeks—I swell with such pride…

almost as if he were realizing this old wish for me. But now…" I trailed off in thought,

"Now, with all that's happened recently… and all that I've been through in the past…

I've realized how much I _long _to be able to just… settle down. To stop _running _for

once. All my life I've run, Quentin; as a child from the debt collectors, as a teenager

from my father's blows and punishments, and now from the law. And though now

I've got a wonderful new friend and sweet little son; I've always secretly dreamed of

rooting myself somewhere—a quiet little piece of land with a house of my own;

perhaps where Erik had the space to run and climb and play for as long as he desires.

I always imagine myself sitting out on a clean, white porch on a warm summer

night… just closing my eyes and feeling the bliss of _stability _and _normality _like

everybody else does." I sighed, but then abruptly stopped and snapped my gaze over

to look at Quentin; whose green eyes bored into mine. "Forgive me; just listen to me,

rambling on!" I flushed.

"Oh no! I mean, no you're… uh… doing great, actually. Answering just how

you're meant to answer in this game. You don't need to… stop."

"I'm not boring you?"

"N—not at all."

"Oh. Well I'm glad I'm doing well for a first timer, then." I giggled. He chuckled

in reply, then urged me on again. "Alright. Well, as I was saying… the idea has always

just been… so appealing to me! Even though deep down I know that I can never truly

have it because of my rather… illicit lifestyle; it's always just been a nice wish… a

pleasant thought in dark times. I'll just retreat to that little house I've invented in my

mind and escape… even if for but a moment." I finished with a small, half-hearted

smile. I'd forgotten how much it pained me to think of that peaceful life I so desired

but could never really have. Especially now, since it would also fulfill my hope for a

better life for Erik. But, as always, the notion of it all was solacing as well as

lamentable.

It was silent for a few moments after I'd concluded as Quentin pondered my words. I

soon grew a bit restless in the anticipation of what he would say; but was surprised

to hear only, "That _is_ nice. 'Right; my question?"

I was nervous for a moment as I thought over his response; did he think me foolish?

A silly girl with impossible fantasies flying about in her mind? But I was swiftly able

to banish these thoughts from my head with contradictions of, '_It's _better_ that he _

_said nothing. Think of the discomfiture should you have gone any deeper into such an _

_intimate dream.' _

"What is one of your deepest fears?" Quentin asked with a devilish grin,

cutting my internal debate short. I laughed shortly. "How did I know that it would

come to this at some point in time?" I teased. He shrugged—playing along—but his

eyes probed mine as if to say, '_Your turn.' _So, I took a deep breath and began with,

"Well, after the life I've led; there's not much that fazes me. But the few that I had

have recently undergone a large transfiguration in order to revolve around a certain

baby boy. And the most prominent of these is that Erik will never… never find his

place in the world because of his deformities. That… I'll _fail _him as a mother; forcing

him to life his life in solitude because of the one thing he can't change." I could feel

the tears welling up in my eyes before I surely realized how much these words

affected me. This had truly been my worst nightmare since I'd taken the child in; and

images of his experiencing these horrors had long since only begun to plague my

mind. Failing _him—_the first thing I'd come to care for in years—was truly the most

horrid thing I could currently imagine.

I took in a shuddering breath; reaching down and wrapping my arms around Erik's

tiny, sleeping form in an attempt to calm myself. "That thought _terrifies _me. Because

I do love him… and I just wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing that because I

hadn't done enough, that was how he had to live." I choked.

"Éponine? Look at me. Hush now, don't cry. It makes perfect sense; I'm sure

that's every mothers' worst nightmare. But listen to me; you _won't _fail him. You're

intelligent enough to figure out what's best for him, and caring enough to find the

determination and drive to get those things for him. Not to mention he absolutely

adores you." Quentin countered in assurance; sage-like eyes soft.

"I know… and that's even more petrifying." I whispered.

This hushed statement must've acted as a warning flag for how close to the edge I

was; because Quentin quickly decided that any more insurances would do no good

and just changed the subject. "Well, what about something you feared in the past?"

I snorted in half resentment, half embarrassment at the first thought to come to

mind as he said this. "You're going to think I'm horrible and vain." I protested as I

dried my eyes.

"No I won't. Just tell me." he dismissed with a smile.

"Well… one of my worst fears before Erik came along was that… that I'd

never be loved. Truly, deeply loved. You see, I used to think I was loved; back when

my family was rich and we had no troubles. But then, as soon as our fortune ran out;

my parents would fight, my father would hit me… and then we were out on the

streets. That was quite the wake-up call; and when this fear first came to surface.

Horrible things were done by my father's hand in that time… people were

murdered—_murdered, _Quentin!—robbed, and blackmailed into submission. And I'd

often sit on the corner, looking up at the nighttime sky and think, '_Who could ever _

_love a girl like this? A girl who's as poor as the dirt that covers her from head to toe _

_whose father would have no second thoughts about killing him off should he get too _

_nosy. Who would look past this rough surface to see a girl who just… wants to be cared _

_for?' _That's all I really wanted back then. And now that I've found a better life, I don't

think about it as much; but every once in a while it… drifts through my train of

thought."

More silence as I watched Quentin's expression—slightly… wide-eyed at the

moment—looking for some sign of disgust with my romantic, narcissistic dread. But

there was none. Only a slight tenderness, pity, and another strange expression I

couldn't put my finger on.

Finally, he intook a deep breath and said, "You shouldn't… shouldn't worry about

that, Éponine." he paused, averting his eyes. "You're an exceptional young woman."

I opened my mouth to make a satiric comment; but found I couldn't find the

pettiness or words to form it. That was perhaps one of the kindest ways anyone had

ever described me; in this life and the last.

"You really think so?" I whispered.

"I know so." Another pause. "You're… intelligent, kind, clever, full of life,

and… dare I say it, very pretty." he finished; words jumbling together slightly as they

quieted to a half mumble.

"Really?" I asked in near-disbelief. No one had _ever_ given me such a

thoughtful compliment; let alone call me pretty.

"Yes." he breathed, sneaking a glance up at me. His eyes were full of bashful

discomfiture; but were also sincere and warm. Now it was my turn to flick my eyes

downcast. "No one's ever told me such before. Thank you, Quentin. That means

much to me." I told him quietly.

"You're welcome, Éponine." he replied in the same manner. A slience settled

over us once more; but before it could take firm root, I broke it saying, "I'm actually

quite tired now. Would you mind if we turned in for the night?"

"Not at all. Sweet dreams, Éponine." he was quick to respond; shooting me a

small smile.

"Same to you. And… thank you. For everything." I whispered as I rolled over

and shut my eyes.

"My pleasure." I heard him murmur in reply.

It didn't take me long at all to fall fast asleep; for I truly was exhausted. But all I

could think of as I slipped into unconsciousness was Quentin's generous words; and

how the things I'd longed for someone to tell me had had finally been said—and yet

about 26 years late.

~o~*0*~o~

"_Mamán!" a tiny, cherubic voice called out. I opened my eyes to see Erik waving _

_excitedly to me, sitting in the middle of one of the grandest rooms I'd ever seen. I _

_blinked rapidly in surprise; glancing frantically around in bemusement. _Where were

we? When would the true proprietors show up to kick us out?

_"Yes, love?" I finally managed, focusing back on Erik. I nearly rubbed my eyes as _

_my gaze fell upon him; sure that I was dreaming. The tiny child sitting across the room _

_from me was clean as a whistle, no longer thin in dangerous malnourishment, and _

_positively glowing with health. It took me several moments to realize that this well-_

_cared-for boy was my adopted son; but it certainly helped that his twisted deformities _

_were absolutely unmistakable. _

_ "I made a new song! D'you wanna hear it?" Erik bubbled excitedly, pointing to _

_the object he was sitting down at; a grand, glossy piano. I had to suppress a gasp as I _

_saw it; pianos were so expensive! And delicate! Oh God, and we couldn't possibly be the _

_owners—_

_ "Erik dear? Let's not play with the piano right now." I said in an attempt to stop _

_him. He glanced back at me, visibly confused. "Why not?" he asked. _

_ "We wouldn't want to break what isn't ours." I replied simply. _

_ "Isn't ours? But Mamán; I thought this was ours! We've had it for a lot of weeks!" _

_I rested my head on my hand for a moment, trying to process what had just been said. _

_If we _did _own the piano, then this was _our _house… _

_ "Forgive me, Erik; sometimes I forgot these things. Of course we own it; go _

_ahead and let me hear your song." I finally said, plastering on a smile. In truth; I was _

_curious. If we'd had the piano for several weeks, his skill level should be…_

_ "Okay! Here I go!" _

…_Great. And it was; the melody which flowed from his little, underdeveloped fingers _

_was as breathtaking as anything I'd ever heard. I sat in awe for several minutes as he _

_played; then clapped enthusiastically once he had finished. He turned back around to _

_face me; a beam lighting up his misshapen face. "You liked it, Mamán?" he asked me. _

_ "Of course! Wonderful, as always." I told him with a smile. _

_ "Oh thank you! Will you come sit with me?" he inquired eagerly. I chuckled. "Of _

_course, dearest." _

_As I stood up from the chair I'd been perched in; I was surprised to stumble slightly as I _

_took that first step. I looked down and saw a fine, elegant, expensive-looking gown _

_adorning me; and quickly realized that I'd tripped over the fashionable pair of heeled _

_shoes on my feet. This time, I could not suppress my gasp; and it escaped from my _

_mouth in my astonishment, causing Erik to look at me strangely. But I didn't see his _

_befuddled expression; all I could focus on was the fact that I was dressed in the very _

_clothing I'd never been able to afford but _always _secretly wished for. _What the hell

was going on?

_"Mamán?" Erik asked; nervousness creeping into his tone. His dictations _

_brought me back, and I quickly composed myself to look up at him. "Coming, coming!" I _

_practically sang; cheerfully making my way over to his side. I sat down at the piano _

_bench, smiling warmly, "So, how did you come to make up that glorious little tune of _

_yours?" _

_That dissipated any uncertainties the little boy had left; and seconds later he was _

_rambling on about the birds and the spring and all the things that had made him think _

_of his song. Then he began to get more technical; telling me of the chords and tempo _

_and other bits to the melody—speaking as if he'd been taking lessons for years. I had to _

_fight to keep my mouth from dropping open; where had he learned all this? The only _

_thing he'd known how to do that _I_ knew of was play by ear; and we'd never be able to _

_afford lessons. _

_ '_Unless…' _It suddenly dawned on me, '_unless we are suddenly ande

miraculously rich enough to do so.'

_It all made perfect sense now! The house, the dress, Erik's newfound knowledge of _

_musical phrases and structures…_

_But the question was now, '_How?'

"_Hello? I'm home!" a voice suddenly rang out; piercing though the silence. A _

_very exuberant and _familiar _voice, might I add. '_Ah; so Quentin too is going to make a

cameo in this dream.' _I laughed internally, '_Good thing, too; maybe _he_ can explain

how we acquired all of this!"

_ "Papa!" Erik squealed, scrambling off the piano bench to the source of Quentin's _

_call. _

_Papa. _

Papa…

_I could feel my eyes widen as I realized what that one, simple word meant; and my left _

_hand was flying up to my line of vision before I could fully process what was happening. _

_And sure enough; there was a large, glittering diamond ring wrapped around my ring _

_finger. _

_In this world… where we were all healthy and happy and well-off… I was _married _to _

_Quentin. _

_They entered the room once more a second later; Erik chattering away about his song _

_and the games he'd played that day whilst sitting comfortably in Quentin's arms. And _

_Quentin patiently smiled and nodded and listened prudently before kissing Erik's _

_forehead after he'd finished his childishly airy explanation. "That's wonderful, son! _

_Papa is so proud of you!" and turning to me. _

_I'd been watching their sweet, nonchalant encounter mouth agape; hardly able to get _

_over my shock to close it. Married… _married!

_ "Something wrong, dear?" I suddenly perceived Quentin asking playfully. I _

_looked up at him— so sharply dressed in a stylish, sleek suit—and shook my head; half _

_as a response and half to attempt to clear away my perplexity. _

_ "Glad to hear it." he laughed, putting Erik down and walking towards me. Erik _

_rushed back over to the piano and began playing again; so it was only Quentin and I _

_engaging in conversation. _

_ "How was your day?" I blathered before I could stop myself. For silence was _

_leaving me alone in my near-frightened incredulity; and this was all I could think of to _

_otherwise occupy myself. He smiled down at me; stunningly vehement adoration _

_lighting up his eyes. "Very good…" he began, and then before I could comprehend what _

_he was doing; he had leaned down and softly pressed his lips to mine. I grew rigid— _

completely_ unprepared for this sudden display of affection—and just sat there _

_awkwardly with my heart hammering luridly in my chest as he kissed me slowly. _

_Finally, after what seemed like decades, he pulled away; a small, blissful smile playing _

_on his lips. "But _much _better now." he murmured with a loving grin. _

_ "Oh…" was all I could muster; trying to calm my racing heart and figure in my _

_mind what had just happened. He instantly noticed my hazy, vacant expression; and _

_his brow furrowed in worry. "Are you alright, ma cherie?" he asked concernedly. _

_ "I just… I don't know if I… I think I need to lie down." I murmured, covering my _

_eyes with a hand. And after I had, I felt two strong arms wrap around my waist; and _

_opened my eyes again to see Quentin pulling me to him, his thumb tilting my chin up to _

_look at him. "Alright. You do look rather pale. Why don't you go up to our room for _

_some peace and quiet? I'll take care of Erik for the rest of the afternoon." _

'Our room…'

"_Alright. Th—thank you." I stammered, turning towards the stairs. _

_I could feel two pairs of eyes burning into the back of my neck as I exited the room, but _

_I didn't stop to assure them of my well-being. Partially because I wasn't so sure I'd be _

_telling the truth. I finally got to the stairs and took a single step onto them… only to fall _

_right through into some sort of black pit. It happened too fast for me to scream; in fact, _

_I hardly knew that I'd just fallen until I hit the ground. I looked around in bafflement; _

_wondering how much shock a person could experience before just dropping dead from _

_stress. And that's when I heard a quiet, hissed utterance of my name. _

_ "_Éponine…"

_And the voice was as recognizable as if it were my own. '_Oh God no. No, no, no, no, _no!' _

"Éponine…"

"_M—M—Marius?" I squeaked, scouring the darkness around me for a sign of _

_him. And then there he was; stepping out of the shadows towards me. And the rage _

_etched into his face was evident. "_How could you_, _Éponine?" _he asked, looking down at _

_my place on the ground coldly. I simply stared up at his strikingly handsome face; my _

_heart nearly bursting as all the things I'd once felt for him came flooding back. "Wh—_

_what?" I choked; and I could physically feel my heart shattering as his eyes flashed in _

_anger as they glowered down at me like searing flames. _

_ "_Do not play games with me_, _Éponine! You know exactly what you did! You

know _exactly _how you betrayed me!"

"_Oh God, Marius; please! I do not know what you speak of!" I cried out _

_desperately; trying to make him see how he was breaking my heart. He clenched his _

_teeth, leaning down and grabbing my wrist all in one motion. Grabbing my wrist and… _

_pointing to the wedding band. _

_ "Oh no… no! My sweet Marius; this is not what it seems!" I begged him to listen; _

_tears beginning their descent down my face. _

_ "_Do not call me such names. I think it's _exactly_ what it seems. You _betrayed _

me, Éponine." _he growled, dropping my wrist and turning half away from me. _

_"No…" I whispered, reaching after him. _

_ "_Yes. _Betrayed _me, my trust, and my love." _he hissed as he began walking away. _

_ "No!" I screamed, scrambling to my feet to rush after him with intentions to beg _

_his forgiveness. But in just seconds he was gone from view; leaving me in a sobbing _

_heap as the words of my past flame resonated in my ears…_

_ "_You betrayed me, Éponine. Betrayed me, my trust, and my _love…" _

"Marius, no!" I yelled; bolting up in bed. I was panting like a dog and my hair

stuck to my cheeks in wet clumps from my tears; but I soon had bigger things to

worry about than calming myself down. When I had so abruptly sat up, I had

propelled Erik off of my body and sent him in a tumbling heap to the middle of the

bed. He woke with a gasp midair; and when he landed there were only a few

moments of his bewildered silence before the terrified sobbing began. I snatched

him into my arms as soon as he started, rubbing his back and hugging him close to

me. "Shh… it's alright, Erik. You're alright." I whispered soothingly to him. His little

hands found my nightgown, and took hold of it as if hanging on for dear life. "M—

M—Mamán!" he blubbered.

"You're alright… My dear, sweet Erik." I rocked us back and forth. But he

continued sobbing luridly; as if unsure of how else to express his distress and shock.

And, with just my luck, he woke Quentin as well. "Wh… What's happened? What's

going on?" he exclaimed, sitting up.

"Nothing. He must have had a nightmare. You can go back to sleep." I

muttered as I tried to assure the little boy; the mere sound of his voice causing a

great heat to rise to my cheeks.

"Ah… I told you that you should've knocked on wood." he whispered in reply;

and impish grin springing to life. I grimaced at him. "_Not _helpful." I hissed.

"Well then what would you have me do?" he asked, growing serious again.

"Nothing; go back to bed."

"Are you sure you don't need—"

"Yes, I'm fine. And we've got a busy day tomorrow, so good night!" I cut him

off slightly; trying to make my tone sound semi-cheerful so that I did not end up

snapping. He didn't look entirely convinced with my charade, but he laid back down

without another word.

I continued calming Erik down until his cries reduced to mere sniffs; and by that

time I was relieved to hear that Quentin's breathing had slowed to the steady and

even pace of a sleeping being once more. "Ready to go back to bed, little one?" I

quietly inquired.

"Mmhm. But Mamán… why did you tell Quentin that? I didn't… I didn't have

nightmare." he mumbled sleepily. I felt his eyelids flutter shut as soon as he'd

finished saying this, so I found it safe to let my expression return to its post-incubus

state and whisper, "I know… but I did."

**Author's Note:**** Hey guys! I'm sorry this one took so long; but it was a long, arduous, annoying process. Not even my usual laziness! It just took forever! I wrote out an outline first, then decided to put myself in Eppie's position to get into character by staying up late one night and recording a conversation with myself of how I wanted the question game to go. Crazy? Perhaps. But it helped this author out. **

**Then I had to keep referring back to the tape recorder, typing it into the computer, and then I ended up changing the outline… Gahh! It was just a mess. I'm rather happy with how it turned out, though. **

**Ponine/Quentin fluff! **** or… *ahem* weird dream, right? Where did that come from? *grins evilly* **

**For those of you who stick with me despite my inactivity, thank you so much! R&R if you want; I'm not even going to ask for them after all the hell I put you through waiting for these. But I love hearing opinions! ~DonJuana**


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